


Don't Abandon The Ship

by strandedchesspiece



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: A side of Savis, And a bit of Jandy, Clay Spenser Whump, Clay whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Clay Spenser, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Protective Jason, Team as Family, Worried brothers, sonny whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece/pseuds/strandedchesspiece
Summary: Tag to 3x20 ... Bravo follow a lead on Al-Hazred, but things don't exactly go to plan when Clay and Sonny get left behind.
Comments: 134
Kudos: 258





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to one of my favourite songs, and thinking too much about the Season 3 finale - and what the last two unfinished episodes might hold. This one is a tag to 3x20 I've been working on, although it will quickly become an AU once the new season starts. Just playing around with some ideas for what might come next, based on a small **SPOILER** that the last two episodes were being filmed in the snow. Once again, I don't own these guys, and all mistakes are mine. My military and medical knowledge is patchy, at best. I'll try to update quickly but I have a few non-writing projects at the moment, so I make no promises. Hope wherever you are, you're safe and well. Thanks for reading :)

_All hands on deck / don't abandon the ship  
You'll never know what it could have been  
All hands on deck / my ship is sinking  
Don't let me go / Don't let me drown_

_(Hands On Deck ~ Waking Ashland)_

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

It wasn't that Jason didn't believe in destiny.

It was that he couldn't.

Not with the way Alana had died. Or Adam. Or Nate. Or any of the countless people he'd loved and lost.

Life threw curve-balls, razor blades, and sometimes hand grenades – no one dodged those things forever. It was luck, or lack thereof, that determined whether you kept breathing.

Ray, on the other hand, believed in a greater power - a scribe predetermining each person's path, each twist and turn. A God, who lined up events; brought things together, tore them down. Bravo Two could find deeper meaning in a grain of sand, if he searched long enough. He believed in destiny, and that's why he believed that there was meaning behind them going after Al-Hazred's son.

Jason called bullshit on that idea, agreeing to disagree. However, the name evoked so much emotion within him - stirring up old memories that he'd rather leave buried.

He recalled the wide-eyed boy, terrified in the wake of his father's death. The flare of protection he'd felt towards the child, despite the fact that he was still relatively new to parenthood at the time. The noise, the blood, the chaos, the child's trembling and tears – they were etched in his memory alongside so many other traumatic events, filed away to gather dust …

Things like that should remain buried. No good came of unearthing them.

But, it seemed fate - or destiny, or a higher power with a sick sense of humor – was determined to steer him back towards that night eighteen years ago. It had been revealed that the terrified young boy had grown into a man, and had carved out his own dark path, following in his father's footsteps. His actions had drawn a target upon his back. And now, the spear was aiming in his direction.

"Full circle," Ray had said pointedly, after they'd received the news. And then, studying Jason, as if searching for agreement, "You feel it, don't you?"

But Jason couldn't feel it. Refused to feel it. Thinking of targets like that would only end badly. As far as he was concerned, the new Al-Hazred was just another job, just another terrorist to put down. And after him, there would be another. And another. And another.

Because war didn't end. So long as there were people on the planet, there would be targets, and spears to point. Bloodshed and loss. It was a self-fueling cycle - good versus evil, forevermore. Their job was to keep the balance from tipping too far out of their favor. They fought hard, until their number was up - and then they tagged out with the next guy in line.

It was a brutal, bloody mess. There was no rhyme or reason, and it was pointless trying to apply order to such unpredictable chaos. In the end, they were each just a memory in the dust.

"Enjoy freezing your balls off."

Drawn from his heavy thoughts, Jason swung a glance towards the firepit, where Thirty Mike and the rest of Charlie were loitering – smirks being cast, as Bravo made their way in full snow camo towards the base's airfield.

To their credit, none of Jason's guys took the bait. Sonny muttered a curse under his breath, but otherwise restrained himself. It hadn't escaped Jason's notice that the stint in Texas had somehow mellowed their hot-headed cowboy. As much as Sonny had rubbed them all up the wrong way before he'd left, they were all damned glad to have him back again – including Clay. The dust had settled, rifts had been mended. And most of all, it meant that they were free of Thirty and his shit-stirring ways.

Jason's eyes briefly met Beau's, a cool glance passing between them.

Being a dick seemed to be a pre-requisite for joining Charlie, Jason thought drily. It was no secret that there was little love lost between their two teams. He pointedly turned his back on the taunts, carrying on.

It was 0900 and the sun was bright. No clouds in the endless sky – not that there ever was. Bravo were being sent off for a day of surveillance, on a God-forsaken mountaintop. In the snow.

Blackburn had called them in just after dawn, told them to gear up. Davis had pulled in a lead on their friend, Al-Hazred, and eyes were needed on the ground, ASAP. Thanks to Clay's Spiderman moves in the tunnels the day before, they had been able to track the rebel group high into the Hindukush Mountains, where they'd set up camp in a tight valley. ISR observations had revealed a lot of activity, vehicles coming and going, possible weapons movement. But they couldn't confirm from the footage, due to the snow glare and the uneven terrain; which was why they needed Bravo.

"We get all the fun jobs," Sonny grumbled, once they were out of Charlie's earshot. "I fuckin' hate snow." He readjusted his pack. "Forget freezing my balls off – I'm sweating them off under all these layers. They're gonna drip down into my boots any minute, swear to God."

Clay snorted.

"You'll be grateful for the layers soon enough," Ray countered, although he wiped at his brow, betraying his own discomfort.

Jason quirked a lip at Bravo Three's complaints.

"I've missed your bitching and moaning," Trent murmured, words lined with sarcasm – and just a hint of fondness.

"What's worse?" Clay asked. "Desert sand, or snow?"

"Hate both," Sonny shot back, not missing a beat.

Brock chuckled. "How the fuck are you even a SEAL?"

Sonny seemed to consider a moment, biting his lip as he stared into the morning glare, white light glinting off his sunglasses. "I've asked myself that same question," he admitted quietly.

And if Jason didn't know better, he could have sworn there was a splinter of sincerity lingering in Sonny's reply.

" _Jason_ -"

His name being called caught his attention. Turning towards the voice, Jason was surprised to see Mandy approaching. He slowed his steps, but didn't stop completely. The warmth that flushed up his neck upon seeing her caught him off guard, and he silently hoped it wasn't obvious.

She eyed him, expression neutral – although there was a strange gentleness lining her features, an unspoken acknowledgement of what had happened between them the night before; though they were yet to officially work out what, exactly, that meant going forward.

Making it clear that now wasn't the time to discuss their personal relationship, she fell into step beside him. "Watch your backs today," she said, dropping her voice so that it remained just between the two of them.

Jason arched a brow, not liking the subtle warning in her tone.

She darted a quick look at him, and then casually scanned their surroundings, as if reconfirming they had no prying eyes or ears.

"Anything in particular I should be worried about?" He pushed, matching her hushed tone.

But she just bit her lip, didn't reply.

Nothing solid then. Just a Mandy-hunch. Which was never good.

Swallowing jaggedly, Jason agreed to her request – though it sat heavily, like a rock in his gut.

He eyed the backs of his men, a few strides ahead of him. The chopper was waiting, rotor already turning, kicking up dust. They were going to sit in the snow for nearly half a day, on a remote mountain top. They weren't expecting any trouble.

Or were they?

Jason had enough experience to know that trouble was never far away, especially in a place like this. He would have been foolish not to have kept that in mind, Mandy's warning or not.

He didn't say anything more, and she didn't allow him the chance as she peeled off in another direction, with barely a backwards glance.

Jason hesitated, watching her go, before jogging to catch up with the others, ducking low under the rotors and taking his place with legs dangling over the open side of the metal bird. Wedged between Clay and Brock, he flexed his gloved fingers against the rifle in his lap.

As they lifted off, he felt Mandy's ominous words trailing behind like a weight on a string.

The landscape changed from sand to rocks, to sheer ledges and gravelly gullies. The helo ride would take nearly two hours, and they would be dropped on the backside of the mountain they'd chosen as their best vantage point.

Based on wind direction, they'd concluded that the mountain should offer cover, preventing the noise of the chopper from reaching unfriendly ears in valley they were set to observe. They would trek an hour through the snow, observe the rebel group for two hours, before trekking back. Infil and exfil points would be the same. They weren't to remain atop the mountain beyond 1500, despite the fair-weather forecast. All going to plan, they should be back on base by dinner.

Simple. Right?

And yet … Jason's gut tingled, after Mandy's warning.

The noise of the chopper made conversation difficult. Casting half-glances to his left and right, Jason noticed that both Brock and Clay appeared lost in their own thoughts, eyes on the jagged ground drifting by beneath them. It was a tight fit, and they sat shoulder-to-shoulder. Jason let his thoughts settle on the young, fair-haired man to his right.

Things had been tense between him and Clay, ever since Thirty had pushed Clay into admitting that he'd accepted Lindell's offer. Jason had flown off the handle, thrown one of his knee-jerk reactions at the kid, sent him off to COP Redding as punishment. And Clay had taken it, without argument.

Jason would have almost preferred a fist fight, as opposed to the uncharacteristic obedience he'd received from Bravo Six. He'd been careless with his words, saying things he regretted right before he'd sent Clay to that outpost. And hearing that Clay had had some close calls whilst serving out his 'sentence' was like a kick in the gut, making him feel even worse. If anything had happened to the kid, while he'd been up there …

It didn't bear thinking about, and Jason batted the uncomfortable thoughts away. He couldn't change what had happened. The boy was fine. That's all that mattered, right?

The gaping chasm between them screamed otherwise.

Jason felt responsible for the rift, and yet, he hadn't repaired it. Perhaps it was stubbornness. Perhaps even a bit of fatherly disappointment, as he grappled with the fact that Clay wanted to step away from his 'family'. He wasn't sure, entirely, but whatever it was, it would need addressing. Because when all was said and done, no matter how upset he felt, he cared too much about his pain-in-the-ass rookie to throw away their relationship over conflicting career goals.

Benching his thoughts on the matter for the time being, Jason turned his attention back to the passing landscape. They had gained altitude, and the air was thinner, crisper. More and more white was taking the place of brown, as snow drifts connected.

"Bravo One, this is HAVOC." Blackburn's voice buzzed in his ear. "Five mikes to drop zone. How copy?"

Jason felt Clay and Brock shift beside him, having also heard the radio call. He keyed his comms. "Good copy, HAVOC."

Casting a look over his shoulder, he checked that Ray, Trent and Sonny were ready.

Ray responded with a thumbs up.

Sonny just shook his head, eyeing the snow with a mixture of trepidation and disdain.

The chopper approached their selected position, and the pilot brought them in a tight circle, choosing a spot to hover. Ropes were cast over the sides, their tails skimming the frozen ground.

Six men seamlessly slid to the ground, their boots sinking up to the ankles in white.

"HAVOC, this is One," Jason reported, once everyone was free of the ropes, the chopper lifting and tilting back in the direction they'd come. "Heading to the observation point."

"Copy that, One," came Davis' slightly crackled reply.

Ray took the lead, extending his collapsible hiking pole with a snap. He probed the ground before each step, the others following, single file, each being sure to step in the footprints of the man ahead.

The snow was fresh, unmarked and glistening in the bright sun – a stark contrast to the deep blue of the sky, and the dark coloring of exposed rocks. Glancing about, Jason took a moment to breathe in the view. It really was beautiful. Silent. A far cry from the images conjured up in most people's minds when they pictured the Middle East.

Their path took them just over the mountain's shoulder, to an area where the ground descended gently to another small ridge, lower down the slope with a good view of the valley. They picked their way carefully, laying low - aware that they were camouflaged, not invisible. It was behind that second ridge that they set up their gear, nestling in as close as they could.

"HAVOC, this is One," Jason dutifully reported. "We've got eyes on the target vehicles. Commencing surveillance." He lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes, hearing the crackled acknowledgement from back at base. Despite his weather-proof clothing, he felt the chill of the snow against his elbows and stomach, where he had contact with the frozen ground.

They had a decent view of the tight valley below, clearly observing the cluster of vehicles parked there. A few armed men moved about - they counted seven, total, and sent photos back to command. Nothing much happened for the first hour, and it wasn't long before they were all glancing at their watches, counting down the minutes until they could catch their ride back.

Conversation was thin, each of them trying their best to just knuckle down and get the job done. Clay and Ray watched through their rifle scopes, while Jason and Sonny switched turns with the binoculars. Brock relayed information back to command, and Trent snapped photos.

At the one hour and twenty-minute mark, Jason was just beginning to loosen his grip on the tendril of worry that Mandy had instilled in him, when Clay shifted.

The younger man readjusted his scope. "You guys seeing what I'm seeing?" He said.

Something in Bravo Six's tone pulled at the hairs on the back of Jason's neck, and he hurriedly took the binoculars from Sonny, trying to catch on to whatever Clay had just picked up.

Activity had increased around one of the vehicles, and a truck could be seen approaching the group.

"That's a lot of movement, all of a sudden," Ray agreed, glancing briefly across the line towards Jason.

Clay crinkled his brow against his scope, chewed at his bottom lip. "Something's got them busy," he muttered. "The way they're moving, they've picked up the pace."

Jason agreed, and the knot in his gut tightened. The small figures surrounded the truck as it came to a halt, like ants suddenly busy within a nest.

The back of the truck was opened, and crates unloaded.

"Bingo," Trent murmured, snapping some more photos.

"Yeah, no prizes for guessing what's in them boxes," Sonny added. Even without binoculars, he could see the cargo being transferred from the truck.

"Hold up." Clay again.

And damn it, the kid still had that tone. Jason flitted a glance at Clay, focusing harder on the activity down in the valley. Something had snagged Clay's attention, and he'd spent enough time with Bravo Six to learn that the younger man had a gift for reading situations.

"Talk to me," Jason urged.

But Clay didn't need to explain. Within a heartbeat, a crate was popped open, and an AT4 rocket launcher was unpacked, hastily assembled. One man hoisted it onto his shoulder, while another loaded it. It was then pointed upwards, towards Bravo's position.

Oh _fuck_.

" _Incoming_!" Clay yelled, dropping the scope and tucking himself as close to the snow bank as possible, the others doing the same.

Thankfully, the first shot was a miss, sending a teeth-chattering vibration through the ground and splattering ice and rock around them.

Without another thought, they snatched up their gear, clutching their rifles, fueled by sudden adrenaline.

"Go, go, go!" Jason ordered, indicating their direction of retreat.

They needed to move their asses while the rebels reloaded.

Gunfire rang out, and Bravo scrambled back towards the cover of the mountain's ridge, snow exploding around them. They returned fire, not expecting to eliminate the threat – simply attempting to buy time to get back behind the mountain.

The landscape was their best defense, with the higher ridge providing a natural barrier between them and the threat. They each took turns spinning and firing a burst at their attackers, tag-teaming as they went.

" _How the fuck did they know we were here_?" Sonny yelled over the mayhem.

No one replied, but Jason had no doubt they were all thinking the same thing. "HAVOC, this is One," he panted into his comms, feeling the numbness of ice grazing his cheeks and lips as the ground exploded to their far right, causing them to falter for a moment. "Taking heavy fire -" He reached down to snag the back of Brock's vest, hauling his number five back to his feet and propelling him forwards as they lurched on. "Targets knew we were here," he grit, turning and sending a spray of bullets down into the valley. "I repeat, taking heavy fire. We've been made. Seeking cover."

They ran on, as best they could, through the thick snow with the assault raining down on them.

Suddenly, Trent pitched forward, knees buckling.

Jason cursed, watching Clay scoop their medic under an arm and drag him onwards.

Trent found his feet, stumbling and slightly hunched.

Comms crackled in Jason's ear, and he nearly didn't hear Blackburn's reply over the chaos and his own heavy breathing. Running uphill in thick snow wasn't easy at the best of times, add in the fact that someone was trying to blow them to pieces …

"Requesting QRF -" Jason bit out, briefly meeting Ray's eyes as his 2IC took over from Clay, roughly pulling Trent along. "We need off this mountain, ASAP."

Clay took a moment to swing his rifle back towards the valley, take aim and release a few well-placed shots – dropping two of the tangoes.

Another explosion rocked them backwards, as part of the ridge blew up head of them.

"They're gonna bring this God-damn mountain down on top of us, if we don't get our asses over that ridge," Sonny yelled, picking himself up out of the snow and lurching forward once again, grabbing Clay's vest strap and hauling him upright.

Blackburn's tense voice crackled a reply. "We have a chopper ten mikes out." Even with the jagged reception, the tightness around his words was evident.

Jason felt relief tingle through him. "Copy that." Ten mikes. That was do-able. A chopper wasn't exactly a military jet that could blow the valley to pieces, but he guessed that was the point. The rebels firing upon them were a valuable link to finding Al-Hazred. Couldn't exactly blow them to hell.

Spurred by the hope that their ride wasn't far away, they flung themselves further up the hill. Once they were over the ridge, they should be relatively sheltered and able to board the chopper.

Getting a hand behind Trent, Jason pushed his number four up the last incline, while Ray took a turn at firing into the valley. "Trent, you good?" He barked.

Trent took a moment to reply, too busy keeping himself upright. "Bullet. Vest," came the clipped response.

Jason took the lack of visible blood, and the fact that Trent was still ambulatory, as a good sign - though his medic could be a stubborn bastard sometimes, when it came to his own wellbeing. Whatever the extent of his injury, it would have to be dealt with later; given they made it out of this in one piece, and _had_ a later.

Brock reached the ridge first, hopping over the lip, and immediately popping back up to offer cover fire.

Ray hauled Trent over, both of them disappearing for a moment, before Ray's rifle joined Brock's.

Jason was next, but he slowed, glancing behind him.

Sonny and Clay were more than a few feet behind the rest of the group – both having stopped to provide as much cover as they could while the others made it over the snow barrier.

"Move your asses!" He ordered sharply, uneasy with how far they were behind.

Sonny yelled at Clay, who reluctantly lowered his rifle. The two of them lurched after Jason.

Jason made it to the ridge, just as another explosion hit. The snow between him and his two lagging men exploded in a shower of ice, and Jason all but threw himself over the lip and into cover with his arms braced protectively over his head.

The debris settled, and he scrambled to his feet.

Beside him, Ray and Brock did the same, while Trent lay panting against the wall of snow, counting breaths.

As soon as they peeked over the top, bullets sprayed the ground, sending them ducking again.

"Three, Six - sitrep, now!" Jason demanded, fingers numb despite his gloves, as he keyed his radio.

Silence.

A painful chill spread through Jason's chest, as he repeated his order, trying again to peek over the ridge. A half-second glance was all he gained, before bullets sent him down again.

But it was enough to realize that Sonny and Clay were gone.

"Jase -?" Ray prompted shakily.

Brock's eyes were wide, searching. He had one hand on Trent's chest, as if to steady them both.

Jason swallowed jaggedly, squeezed his eyes closed briefly. "HAVOC, this is One," he hurriedly spoke into his comms, voice not quite working. "Tell me you've got eyes on Three and Six." He tried once again to peek out from their cover, but the rebels had honed-in on their location, and sent snow and rocks flying with another explosion, just to their left.

 _Fuck_.

Jason dropped back down. They couldn't wait here – they were sitting ducks. The next shot could very well take them all out.

"Negative, Bravo One," came Blackburn's tight but steady reply. "No eyes on Three and Six. Sitrep -"

"Check heat signatures then!" Jason's words were hard and sharp, as he struggled to push down his mounting panic.

" _Jase_ -" Ray warned.

But Jason waved him off, keying his comms again. "They were right behind us, didn't make it over the ridge. I can't get a visual."

Trent cursed, trying to push upright - but Brock's hand tightened against his vest, firmly holding him down.

"We're only picking up four heat signatures," Blackburn reported.

Jason's stomach dropped. That couldn't be right. Even if Sonny and Clay had been hit, their heat signatures would still be picked up. He shook his head, rejecting the information, keyed his comms again. "They were right behind us -"

Another explosion hit the ridge, sending them ducking against raining debris.

"Chopper is five mikes out," Blackburn stated. "They'll get as close as they can, but they can't wait."

The unsaid words hit Jason like a punch in the gut. Blackburn's voice was distant, hollow against the rising roar in his ears, and his chest felt tight, like he was being crushed from within.

"We're not leaving them -" Trent argued, desperately trying to shake Brock off.

Ray attempted another peek over the ridge, but their unfriendly friends down in the valley promptly fired another vicious blast of bullets against the hillside, forcing Ray down again.

Jason's eyes met his 2IC's, not missing the pain lining his best friend's features. He imagined it was mirrored in his own, as tears burned against his lashes and the lump in his throat swelled.

This was the part of his job that he hated. This was the part that broke him, just a little more, every time. His training dictated that he should get his remaining men to the chopper, ensure their safety, regroup and return for their missing brothers. He _knew_ that was the right call. And yet, he couldn't seem to force the order over his lips.

As if sensing his struggle, Ray reached over, locked a grounding hand onto Jason's forearm. Nodded once, lips pursed. "We're not leaving them," he stated. "We'll find them. But we can't do that if we're dead."

Jason pressed his back into the mound of snow behind him, squeezed his eyes closed. He banged the back of his head against the snow in helpless frustration. Gritting his teeth, he tried once more to peek over the ridge, desperate for any sign of Clay and Sonny. Tried again to raise them on comms.

But there was no reply, and a quick scan confirmed that his two men were gone. _Where the fuck had they gone?!_ Nothing but white, uneven ground. He ducked, just as a bullet whizzed past the top of his head.

Hands shaking, he squeezed his eyes closed again, keyed his comms. The words wouldn't come. Throat working painfully, he dredged them up. "HAVOC, this is One -" His heart hammered against his ribs. "Heading to the chopper."

Trent threw a string of curses, and Brock let out a sound that was about as broken as Jason felt.

"Good copy, Bravo One," came Blackburn's crackled reply.

There was a moment of heavy silence, as reality hit them like a ton of bricks.

Their commander's voice returned, sounding as strained as Jason had ever heard it. "We will find them."

Jason didn't reply. What more was there to say? What _could_ he say? Silently, he gripped his rifle, sending a promise over the ridge towards where he'd last seen Clay and Sonny. They would be back, as soon as they were able. Even if Jason had to move heaven and earth, he would be back for them.

In barely muted grief and distress, the four remaining members of Bravo pushed up from the ground as a section of the ridge blew apart. They stumbled down the snowy slope, each fighting to keep themselves moving forward – while their hearts frantically screamed at them to turn around.

Jason set his jaw, counted breaths as he flicked over to auto-pilot. Tears blurred his vision, but he pushed through them. His knees threatened to buckle, but he kept his legs moving. The chopper came into view, and he wanted to turn tail and run back up the slope – but he pushed on, climbing aboard with his men.

They lifted off, sheltered behind the mountain. It took all Jason's strength not to throw himself out the side. Bile burned his throat, and he blinked rapidly, unable to catch his breath.

Beside him, Brock sat, rigid, silently staring back towards where they'd left their brothers. Tears glinted, trailing down his cheeks.

Jason felt himself breaking apart, the further they drifted from the mountain. He had to hold onto the hope that Clay and Sonny were somehow still alive. Despite the slim chance, he _had_ to. Because if they weren't, if they'd been blown up and buried under the snow …

Tears burned against his own cheeks.

Jason knew, if Clay and Sonny were dead, the loss would destroy him. There was only so many times he could lose people he loved, lose parts of himself, and still have something left to put back together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's left comments, as always I appreciate your encouragement more than I can say! An extra apology for any mistakes that might be in this chapter - my two year old is on a sleep strike and I'm running on fumes and caffeine. Stay well everyone x

The first thing Sonny registered, upon regaining consciousness, was the silence.

It hit him even before the pain, even before the aching chill that gripped his bones.

Tentatively, he cracked open his eyes.

His ears still rang from the mayhem that had surrounded him, right before …

His thoughts swam away, causing his brow to scrunch in confusion.

What the hell had happened?

Feeling a sense of urgency, he attempted to roll to his side, get his knees and elbows underneath him.

Pain ripped through his right ankle.

_Holy mother of –_

Panting, Sonny dropped his head back against the jagged, frozen ground, squeezing his eyes closed against a wave of dizziness.

Forcing himself to count breaths, he regained his composure. Reaching ten, he felt ready to attempt moving again - this time being sure to keep his screaming ankle as still as he could.

Managing to get himself halfway upright, Sonny used his left leg to scoot backwards. There was a wall behind him, jagged rock and ice jutting up and out into what appeared to be a small overhang. He gripped at the wall, pulling himself into a sitting position. Breathing hard, he leaned against it.

Reality crashed into him.

From where he was seated, he could see surrounding walls of ice, and a narrow slit of sky at least twenty feet above. Clumps of compacted snow, as well as large chunks of rock, lay about him.

The light from the opening was dim, bringing with it a chilling downdraft. It was just enough to illuminate the claustrophobic space – as well as Clay's unmoving form, a few feet away.

" _Clay -_ "

The name tumbled hoarsely from Sonny's lips, and he urgently pushed off the wall, attempting to get to his brother. His ankle abruptly reminded him that it was most likely broken. Gasping, he rode the wave of pain.

" _Clay -"_ He tried again after a moment, gritting his teeth and pushing air in and out through his nose.

Clay still didn't stir. He lay on his stomach, face tilted away.

Sonny's head swam. Unsteadily, he forced himself the rest of the way.

Reaching a trembling hand, he laid it upon Clay's left shoulder, gave it a light shake.

But the younger man still didn't rouse, and the shoulder moved unnaturally beneath Sonny's touch, obviously dislocated.

Sonny swallowed roughly, feeling his stomach turn. Releasing his grip, he dragged himself closer to Clay's head. Ripping off a glove, he poked two fingers down under Clay's jacket collar, feeling for a pulse.

The muffled beat was there, thank God, thrumming against Sonny's half-numb fingertips. Taking a moment to gather himself, he replaced his glove and darted a glance back up to opening high above them, holding his breath and listening intently.

Nothing.

A low wind-whistle could be heard, but otherwise, there was no sound.

No explosions, no yelling - no familiar voices calling their names.

Just … silence. Almost deafening, and a stark contrast to the chaos that had surrounded them before they'd ended up here; at the bottom of this God-forsaken, icy ravine.

He reached for his radio. Realized it was broken. Ripped it angrily from his vest and cast it aside with an echoey clatter.

His thoughts drifted to his brothers, and his heartrate picked up. The last thing he remembered was approaching the ridge with Clay. There had been another explosion, and then …

Blank.

Taking stock once more of the chunks of ice and rock surrounding them, Sonny felt it was fair to assume that the last explosion had cracked through whatever compacted snow had bridged the gap above the ravine, and he and Clay had been swallowed down into it.

Jason had been ahead of them. Trent, Brock and Ray already over the ridge. He had to believe that they'd all made it to safety, were all in one piece. No doubt they were currently formulating a plan to come and fish him and Clay out of this hell-hole.

Ears tuning in to the painful silence once more, the surrounding emptiness felt crushing. Tilting his wrist, Sonny caught sight of the time on his watch.

Three-thirty PM.

He and Clay had been laying here for two hours. If the rebels were coming for them, surely they would have been here by now. If their brothers were coming for them, surely _they_ would have been here by now.

No one was here.

The wind continued its low whistle above, and a sense of dread crept through Sonny's chest. The light was fading, and darkness would come before they knew it. Something told him that it was going to be a long, cold night, for him and Clay.

Attempting to rouse his little brother once again, he pushed his mounting panic aside. For the time being, he needed to focus on Clay. Get the kid to wake up. The younger man was face-down, and it was impossible to know what shape he was in without moving him.

Casting another glance skywards, Sonny contemplated the likelihood that the rebels were still coming for them. While he doubted they were still around, he couldn't guarantee that the threat had passed. Clay was laying in a patch of muted light, most likely visible to anyone peering down. The safest option would be to pull him closer to the wall, where they would both be protected by shadows.

But then, he worried, if Clay was badly injured, moving him could do more damage than good.

Sonny scrubbed a hand over his eyes, wishing like hell that Trent was here to give him advice.

Neither option was ideal, however there was one hard truth; Clay's injuries wouldn't matter, if one of the rebels saw him and put a bullet through the back of his head.

Reluctantly, Sonny decided that moving his brother was the lesser of two evils. Shuffling gingerly backwards, he kept his right leg extended so as not to jar his ankle - though it protested sharply, despite his efforts, causing him to hiss and curse in pain.

Muttering a quick apology, he snagged Clay's trouser leg, and tugged as gently as he could. His ankle screamed, and he wanted to scream along with it, but he kept pulling. Biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, Sonny eventually got Clay into the shadows. Gasping in pain from the effort, he fell back against the rough wall.

Now that they were both out of view, he could work on somehow turning Clay over, get a better look at him.

"Clay?" He rasped, pulling at the younger man's trouser leg again, trying once more for a response. "You hear me, buddy?"

Clay's limp body rocked slightly with the movement, but otherwise remained still.

Sonny released the trouser material, letting his head tilt back against the wall. Mild dizziness came in waves, and his right temple throbbed. He gingerly probed the area, felt dried blood in his hair. Possible concussion - add it to the list.

Pulling a steadying breath, he leaned his upper body forwards. With more than a handful of aches and sharp pains, he shimmied the pack off his back, dropping it beside him. Gloved fingers uncoordinated, he struggled with the zip. Finally, with a muttered curse, he managed to jerk it open, fishing around until he found his compact flashlight and water flask.

Forcing himself to take a sip of drink, Sonny ignored his rolling stomach. It had only been five minutes since he'd regained consciousness, yet somehow, it felt like five hours. He was sure he was moving in slow motion, his fuzzy thoughts lagging. Attempting to pull himself together, he braced for the task of rolling Clay.

Fishing through his pack once more, he drew out a small knife. Removing the sheath, he shuffled forward and carefully slipped the blade beneath one of Clay's pack straps, shimmying until the strap snapped. He repeated the process on the other side, freeing the bag and tossing it over beside his own.

Taking a moment to slide a hand under Clay's vest, Sonny checked his brother's back for obvious injuries. Thankfully, his searching fingers found none, and he let his hand rest for a moment against the small of Clay's back, feeling the reassuring, subtle movement of steady breaths. Curling his fingers into his palm, he rubbed knuckles against the younger man's shirt.

"Blondilocks?" Perhaps a different name might do the trick.

But Clay remained unconscious.

Sonny drew a grounding breath, withdrew his hand. Every movement left him exhausted, aching. His ribs were badly bruised, that was for sure, and a constant tremor ran through his whole body.

In a far corner of his mind, there sat the harrowing worry that Clay might never wake up. But Sonny frantically pushed it down, refusing to go there. One - because he couldn't face the idea of Clay not being okay. And two - because if Clay didn't wake up, and nobody came for them, then Sonny might die first and abandon his little brother to fade away with no one left to watch his back.

"Right," he breathed, words shaking around the edges as he refocused, gathered himself. Keeping his bad ankle outstretched, he shuffled closer to Clay's right side.

He would roll Clay over onto his back, being sure to keep the kid's dislocated shoulder above the ground. It would be awkward, due to lack of proper leverage, but he'd do his best to be gentle.

Counting to three and muttering an under-the-breath apology, Sonny braced Clay's back and reached his other hand under his brother's chest. Despite shaking from the effort, he managed to lift and roll Clay the right way up.

Stars swam. For a moment Sonny's stomach lurched into his throat. Refusing to vomit or pass out, he quickly swung his gaze back to his best friend.

In the dim light, Clay's face was terribly pale - lips parted and slightly purple, spattered with dried blood. His right cheek was bright red from being pressed against the frozen ground, and there was a gash and ugly bruise forming just above his brow on that same side. The rim of his beanie was caked with coppery-brown snow – a few blonde curls poking out, plastered haphazardly to his forehead.

Sonny reached out, brushed the blood-stained snow away. Gently, he cupped Clay's cheek, rubbing a thumb backwards and forwards against rough stubble, watching for any reaction.

Clay's blue eyes remained closed.

Snagging his flashlight, Sonny checked the gash on Clay's brow, checked his pupils. "Looks like it's a concussion for you too, Bam Bam," he concluded soberly. Clay's gash had stopped bleeding, thankfully didn't look too deep. "Any time you feel like waking up …" He let the words trail off, feeling his anxiety build. What he would give for his brother to open his eyes, laugh at him, and tell him they'd both come out of this just fine.

Letting the flashlight beam skip over Clay's chest, Sonny set about checking his front for injuries. Ran a hand down his arms, up under his vest. Clay's radio was, unsurprisingly, broken as well, and Sonny cast it aside with his own.

The light caught on a patch of red staining Clay's shirt, nestled low against the waistband of his trousers by his left hip. Sonny felt his breath catch at the sight.

Clamping the flashlight between his lightly chattering teeth, he hastily undid the button on Clay's trousers, pulling the fly down just enough to move the waistband away from the problem area.

"Any other time, I'd make a joke about this," he muttered, words muffled around the object in his mouth.

He gently peeled Clay's jacket, shirt and undershirt up, switching the light back into his hand and hurriedly assessing the damage.

It wasn't life-threatening, thank God. At least, not yet.

Reaching for his pack and cursing when his injured ankle shifted with the movement, Sonny grabbed his compact med kit. Its contents barely scratched the surface of what Trent carried, but he had sterile wipes, some gauze and tape.

As carefully as he could, he cleaned and dressed Clay's wound. It was a cluster of small cuts, some of them painfully deep. Some had bits of what appeared to be rock embedded inside them. Ideally, he would have removed the shards. But with nothing to use to pull them out, this was the best he could do.

Re-zipping Clay's fly, but opting to leave the button undone so as not to cinch the waistband too tight over the edge of the wound, Sonny took a moment to catch his breath. He leaned one palm against the frigid ground, the other against Clay's closest shin. He closed his eyes, head spinning, and counted breaths once more until the sensation passed.

The cold was starting to seep further into his bones. He could feel it with every passing minute - moving like a thief, silently and steadily stealing their chances of survival. He pried open his eyes, squinted against the incessant pounding in his head, his attention traveling to Clay's dislocated shoulder.

It would hurt like a bitch, once his brother woke up. Attempting to reset it while Clay was still out, and his muscles were relaxed, would be the best option. Not to mention that the longer it stayed dislocated, the less likely it was to go back in.

Sonny swallowed convulsively, unsure whether he had enough strength for such a maneuver.

Eventually concluding that it would be worth it, for Clay at least, he set about trying to figure out the best way to go about it. Trent may be their medic, but resetting a dislocated shoulder was something they were all familiar with. It was up there with one of Sonny's least favorite things to do.

Dragging himself around to Clay's left side, he re-examined the area.

"Sorry, buddy," he whispered, vaguely aware that he was losing count of the apologies.

Bringing himself up on his good knee, attempting to gain height, Sonny gently took hold of Clay's left wrist, raising it as far as he could. Slowly, he maneuvered the injured shoulder, praying that it would line up and slip back in.

Unfortunately, Clay chose that moment to wake up – and the cry that burst from his lips was so abrupt, it nearly caused Sonny to lose his grip.

Thankfully, the injured shoulder popped back into its joint, and Sonny hurriedly draped Clay's arm across his arching chest, all but throwing himself at his little brother.

He fumbled a gloved hand across Clay's mouth to silence him. "Easy, easy," he soothed. "It's just me, it's Sonny." He desperately tried to snag Clay's panicked gaze. "You're safe. I got you."

Clay's eyes were wide, glazed in the dim light. Eventually the blue locked onto Sonny.

Sonny felt relief rush through him.

But it was short-lived, as Clay's eyes rolled back, and he passed out once again.

Sonny's stomach dropped. "No, no, hey, c'mon now -" His chest tightened, anxiety winning over his barely-held-together calm. Suddenly, the situation threatened to overwhelm, drag him under. Squeezing his eyes closed, he counted breaths once again – reaching seventeen, before he felt like he'd regained some semblance of control.

Clay _had_ woken up. That was a good thing. He would wake up again. Sonny placed a hand upon his best friend's chest, resting it atop his vest and willing blue eyes to open once more.

But, stubbornly, they remained closed.

Above them, the wind-whistle picked up, and the chill of their icy prison grew steadily stronger. The light wasn't even gone, but already Sonny could feel the temperature plummeting. He had to figure out a way to keep them warm until help arrived, and he had to figure it out fast.

Gritting his teeth, he shuffled alongside his brother. Gently, he worked a hand under the younger man's shoulders, slowly easing him off the ground. Pulling him close, he felt Clay's head loll against his chest. Attempting to hold Clay still, he lowered his cheek to rest atop the beanie-covered mop.

Using his free hand and good leg, Sonny dragged Clay, pushing back until he was up against the wall. The kid's back was to his chest, weight leaning heavily against him. Sonny used his knees to brace either side of Clay's hips, preventing him from toppling.

They sat, Sonny holding Clay against him and sucking in shaky breaths as he attempted to ignore the various aches of his battered body. "You're damned heavy, you know that?" he grouched, squeezing his eyes closed against the stars that threatened his vision.

Juggling Clay's weight, he crossed his arms snugly over the younger man's chest, rubbing his hands up and down Clay's arms. His teeth were chattering, and he could feel tremors running through Clay's body as well.

"They'll come for us," Sonny muttered, half to himself, half to his unconscious little brother. "We just gotta hang on, til they get here." Throat tightening, he swallowed roughly. "They're coming," he repeated.

Though the wind-whistle taunted, and the silence above and around them suggested otherwise.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason didn't remember the rest of the helo ride back to base. Nor did he recall launching from the bird nearly before it touched down, ordering Trent to go get checked out, and storming across the airfield towards the command center. He heard Ray, hot on his heels – felt his 2IC grabbing at his elbow. But he shook free, jaw clenched and heart hammering in time with his quick steps, not interested in slowing down.

Flinging the command center door open, he nearly knocked over one of the support personnel – the poor guy stumbling backwards, colliding with a chair.

Blackburn straightened from where he leaned over Davis' shoulder at a row of laptops, expression set in tight professionalism - although the lines around his mouth and eyes betrayed the level of emotions charging through him.

Davis didn't look up, fingers frantically jabbing at keys, shoulders rigid with stress as she scanned satellite images.

"We need to get back there," Jason demanded as he approached the work station, voice shaking.

Blackburn opened his mouth, but Jason barreled on. "They're _still there._ We need to get them before dark. I'm not leaving them on that fucking mountain."

Even as the words left his lips, he knew that it wasn't possible to go back right now - had known it when he'd led his team to the chopper. That didn't stop him from trying though; emotions rising up and spilling over in a wave of helplessness and grief.

He registered Ray behind him, a steady hand on his shoulder. But once again, he swatted the touch away – choosing instead to get in Blackburn's face, jab a finger at the computer screens. "I don't care if I have to climb up that God-damn mountain myself, _I am not leaving them there_." He slammed a fist down on the desk, causing Davis to jump – which he should have felt bad about, but just couldn't right now.

Blackburn was no stranger to an explosive Jason Hayes. He had patience where most other commanders would have pulled rank. Right now, with an audience, he settled for landing somewhere in the middle of hard-ass and understanding. "We're doing everything we can." His words were steady, breaking only slightly around the edges.

Jason threw up his arms. He had two men left behind, freezing, and command were _doing everything they could_? "Not good enough," he spat. " _Not fucking good enough._ " He pounded the desk again.

This time, Ray stepped up beside him, pulled him back.

A myriad of emotions flitted across Blackburn's features, and Davis finally looked up from the computer screen; face pale and drawn, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy.

" _I need_ -" Jason started.

But Blackburn coolly cut him off. "You _need_ to step outside," he stated, levelling his gaze at Ray. "Step outside, take a moment, try this again."

Jason's chest hitched, knuckles tingling with the need to release just a portion of the storm raging inside of him. "My guys _don't have_ a moment _-_ "

" _Step outside_ , Master Chief." Blackburn's tone was stern, but in actual fact, he was allowing Jason a moment to compose himself – a grace that not many other CO's would have offered, in the same situation. He lowered his voice, adding, "That's an order."

For a moment, Jason just stood, pinning Blackburn with a dangerous look. But his threatening exterior was merely a front – beyond which he was spinning, unravelling, and breaking apart.

"Jason -" Ray again, tugging at his elbow, this time more firmly.

Throat working, but unable to find the words or energy to continue the fight, Jason slowly backed down.

Blackburn nodded, almost imperceptibly. _I get it_ , his eyes said. _They're my family, too_.

Jason shook his elbow free of Ray's well-meaning grasp, swallowed against the tightness in his throat. The ground felt like it was swaying beneath him, as he turned and stumbled back towards the command centre door.

Once out in the quiet corridor, he placed his hands on his hips, squeezed his eyes closed and tilted his face upwards, counted breaths. There was an icy fist in his gut, clenching and twisting. His heart threw itself against his ribs, threatening to shatter.

After a moment, he dropped his head, dropped his hands, opened his eyes and backed against the wall. Knees buckling, he slid all the way to the scuffed concrete floor. He let his vision slip out of focus, staring blankly as tears burned.

He knew he was supposed to be stronger than this, be able to compartmentalize, detach from the situation. But he just couldn't. Not this time. He'd been down this road too many times, and each time it had worn him away just that little bit more, his edges crumbling.

Ray slid down the wall beside him, bumping shoulders and drawing his knees to his chest.

Jason cast a side-glance at his best friend, noticed Trent and Brock hovering as well. He frowned at his number four. "Thought I told you to go get checked out," he muttered, voice not quite working.

Trent didn't flinch. His eyes were as blank as the rest of them, focused on nothing. "I'm good. Checked myself out." His voice trailed off. "I'll live."

Brock shifted, eyes puffy and still bright with tears. "If we'd had Cerb with us …" he started. Shook his head. "If we can get him up there, he can search …" The words died on his lips. He turned away, throat working, hand clamping across his mouth.

Jason swallowed thickly. An image of Cerberus came into his mind; sniffing at the snow, pawing the ground – telling them where to dig to recover the bodies of their brothers.

"We need to get back there," Trent agreed, voice hoarse. "If they're hurt …"

 _If_ they were hurt. Jason felt pain stab through his gut. Sonny and Clay being _hurt_ would be best-case scenario. Most likely, the two men were dead. But he couldn't bring himself to admit that; couldn't yet think of them in the past tense.

Taking his head in his hands, Jason rubbed at his burning eyes. He shifted against the wall, but there was no escaping the weight that tore through his insides.

 _Let Sonny move to Texas. Let Clay go for STA-21. Just, please, God, don't take them like this,_ he thought brokenly.

The fact that he might never get a chance to mend things with Clay …

Lifting his head, he regarded his men. Each of them was hurting, each falling apart in their own ways.

"We can't give up on them," Ray stated quietly. "We need to pull ourselves together, if we're going to find them."

"We _are_ going to find them," Jason cut in, tone sharper than he intended.

Ray cast him a gentle look, nodded firmly. "Not suggesting that we wont, brother," he amended. "I'm just saying -" His eyes skipped between his three team mates, and he pulled a steadying breath, seeming to draw strength from deep within. "We need to get our heads in gear, if we're going to help them. Even if we have to wait until morning."

They all knew that realistically, they wouldn't be back on the mountain before nightfall. None of them had dared say it out loud though, because saying it out loud made it a reality. But Ray had a way of finding necessary words, even when they were painful.

Jason blew out a breath. The lump in his throat was no smaller, the weight in his gut no less. But he felt a small spark of determination in the wake of his number two's words.

"We have to believe they're still alive," Ray continued. "They're strong."

Trent snorted, hollowly. "They're stubborn," he added.

"They'll _fight_ ," Ray nodded. "So, let's fight for them, by keeping it together so that we can find them, and bring them home."

Jason had lost count of the number of times he'd felt grateful for his best friend. Ray was the voice of reason; the calm, steady presence in the middle of the storm. The anchor for their ship. Perhaps that's what faith did; it provided hope when it felt like there was none. And, despite the fact that Jason didn't believe in a higher power, there were occasions when he truly envied those who did.

Jason blew out a breath, let his head fall back against the wall. Slowly, he drew himself back together. Flicking a glance at Trent, he assessed Bravo Four. Sonny and Clay weren't the only two stubborn members of their team. There was barely-concealed pain resting in Trent's gaze. "You good?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. "Don't bullshit me. A bullet in the vest hurts like hell."

Trent attempted to protest, but Jason intercepted his response. "Go," he ordered. "Get some food. Shower. Rest up. You're no good if you're passed out." He swung his gaze to Brock. "You too," he added. "Get Cerb ready. Grab something each of Clay's and Sonny's, make sure he's familiar with their scent."

He wasn't dismissing them, and thankfully they seemed to understand that. He was giving them both a job to do, something to focus on – a way to feel useful instead of completely helpless.

"We need to make sure we rest up, as well," Ray pointed out gently. "So we're good to go, not dead on our feet."

"We'll take shifts," Jason decided, gesturing towards the command center door. "Someone in there at all times."

The others murmured their agreement. And the weight surrounding them became marginally less oppressive, now that they had a splinter of a plan.

Ray was the first to move, pushing up from the floor. He reached a hand down, and Jason released a shaky sigh, before accepting the offer and allowing his brother to haul him to his feet.

Once upright, he swayed slightly, tilting back against the wall with a bump. The weight returned, reminding him that loss wasn't something that could be eased. They could buoy each other with bits of hope, but the pain would always return.

A dark-haired man bustled past. Jason recognized him as one of Charlie's support team. He cast a condoling look their way, as he moved by – a stark reminder that Bravo were currently a body without a limb, four-sixths of a whole.

Refusing to accept sympathy for two men who hadn't yet been confirmed dead, Jason turned his face away. Cleared his throat, attempted to shake his head clear. His eyes skipped to the others. "Let's get to work," he stated, pushing off from the wall and heading back towards the command center door.

Ray followed, while Brock tugged Trent into action, and the two of them headed off in the opposite direction.

Jason knew his number four and five wouldn't sleep. None of them would sleep. But they would do their best not to completely unravel, so that they were ready when they got the green light to go back to the mountain.

Shoving the command center door open - consciously gentler than the last time - Jason pushed himself into the room, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Blackburn crossed to them, following him and Ray to Davis' desk.

Jason met his CO's assessing gaze, nodded once. He was good. He wouldn't punch or break anything – for now.

Blackburn's posture relaxed slightly, revealing a flicker of raw emotion passing behind his stoic façade. He reached out a lightly shaking hand, squeezed Jason's shoulder. Now wasn't the time to fall apart - now was the time to hold themselves, and each other, together.

Ray took a deep breath, broke the silence. "Any sign of our guys?"

Davis' shattered look was all the answer they needed. She leaned an elbow against the desk, scrubbed a hand over her eyes. "No sign of them," she reported, regretfully. "But …" She clicked an image, zoomed in. "There _is_ this."

Jason felt his gut clench, as he regarded the image. The snowy mountainside looked even more ominous in black-and-white. He swallowed against a spike of anxiety, leaned forward and forced himself to look where Davis was pointing.

A small, jagged line could be seen, shadowed against the white.

Ray joined him leaning forward, narrowed his eyes. "The hell is that?"

"We think," Blackburn answered, turning and leaning a hip against the edge of the desk, "that it might be an opening. It wasn't there in the images taken before the attack."

Jason felt his heartrate pick up. He stared at the ominous-looking dark patch on the screen. "An opening, for what?" he asked, brow pinched. "A cave? Ravine?" A _giant fucking hole_ that had potentially swallowed his guys? None of those sounded good.

Davis nodded.

Jason felt his breath catch. He regarded the shadow in question, feeling equal measures of hope and terror at the prospect.

"The lack of heat signatures," Blackburn explained, voice lacking its usual steadiness, "indicates that Bravo Three and Six are most likely somewhere under the snow."

Jason had thought the same thing, though he'd struggled to understand how the two of them could have been buried so completely in the assault. This made sense. He didn't like it, but it made sense – and it allowed for a very slim chance that they might both still be alive.

"We've been trying their radios every half hour," Davis reported. "But so far …" her voice trailed off. She shook her head, frustrated - but it was a fragile frustration, fueled by emotion, not anger.

"I'm pushing for first light," Blackburn continued. "It's the soonest I can get you guys back there." There was an unspoken apology hanging between his words, despite the fact they all knew there was no way they'd be back up there tonight.

Jason glanced at the clock.

It was four PM.

"They're strong," Ray offered. "If they're alive, they'll hang in there til we can reach them."

Blackburn pursed his lips.

Jason wanted so badly to agree with Ray, but they all knew that the chances of finding their men alive were frighteningly slim. Still, he clung to the sliver of hope, like a lifeline.

"The rebels made no attempts to go up the mountain," Blackburn told them. "They packed up and left pretty quick, once you guys were in the air." Agitation flared in his tone. "I couldn't get clearance to send you guys straight back."

Davis jabbed roughly at the keys on her keyboard, inhaling jaggedly.

Jason ached at the revelation that the mountainside had been clear, not long after they'd left. But he didn't blame Blackburn. He had some understanding of the loops and hurdles their commander had to jump through sometimes, to get their various green lights, and he didn't envy the man. He knew that Davis, and the rest of his guys, didn't place blame either.

However, _someone_ was to blame. And they would damned well be held accountable.

"The rebels knew we were watching them," Jason stated, tone darkening. "No way they just happened to spot us. Someone tipped them off."

At his words, Davis stiffened.

A shadow fell across Blackburn's features. "We know," he agreed, lowering his voice so that it remained between them. "Mandy's onto it."

Ray raised a brow.

Jason blew out a breath, recalling Mandy's warning before they'd set off. It had been haunting him ever since, growing especially loud in the wake of Sonny and Clay's disappearance. He wanted to talk with her, but he didn't trust himself not to lose his cool. She'd suspected something, and she'd subtly given him the head's up. Had she _known_ that something would happen?

His gut said that she hadn't. He'd worked with her for long enough to know that she wouldn't deliberately withhold something from them, if it meant risking their lives. And, above all, he _knew_ her. He knew she had their backs, and he trusted her with their lives. If anything, he suspected she was probably carrying the most guilt out of all of them right now.

"Once we have something solid, you'll be the first to know," Blackburn assured, voice still quiet.

Jason picked up on the wariness in the older man's tone. He locked onto it, turned it over. "Why do I get the feeling there's something more you're not telling us?" The topic wasn't exactly classified, in a space like this, and yet Blackburn was consciously keeping the conversation between them, and them alone.

Ray's dark eyes grew darker, and he braced a hand against the back of Davis' chair. "You suspect a leak," he surmised.

Jason felt his stomach drop.

Blackburn drew a long breath, gave a tight nod.

Ray shifted uncomfortably, and Jason's thoughts churned.

Subtly, he cast his gaze about the room, mirroring Mandy's actions from earlier when she'd intercepted him on the way to the chopper. It was one thing to face a threat from the outside, but when it hid within their own ranks …

The events from the day suddenly took on a whole new dimension, sending a chill through him. A mole was a violation, a complete breach of trust. And if two of his men, his _brothers_ , had lost their lives because of this individual …

Rage rippled through him, and for a moment he saw red. Squeezing his eyes closed, he counted breaths, until the surge of emotion had passed. He needed to keep his head on straight, if he wanted to find Sonny and Clay.

"If someone needs hanging, Mandy'll find them," he grit, mostly to himself.

Casting a look at Ray and Blackburn, he saw the same sentiment reflected in their expressions.

Davis sniffed, pushed up from her chair. Wiping at suspiciously damp eyes, she excused herself, saying that she needed some fresh air.

Ray gently caught her elbow as she left. "We'll find them," he reassured her. It was a promise.

She didn't reply, but her eyes grew even more glassy.

And, not for the first time, Jason found himself wondering whether there was perhaps something more going on between Davis and Bravo's hot-headed cowboy.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Davis hurried down the corridor, her legs threatening to buckle. She made it to the ladies' shower room, and all but flung herself inside.

Closing herself in, she slid the lock and fell back against the door, slamming her hands over her mouth as she doubled over.

Her whole body shook as ugly, painful tears broke free. Her heart hammered, as all the emotion she'd managed to keep at bay exploded out of her.

Dropping her hands, she stumbled forward, dry retching.

Nothing came up.

Falling back against the door once again, she struggled to catch her breath. Her chest felt like it would burst, her gut attempting to twist inside-out.

 _God, Sonny_ …

A new wave of sobs shook through her.

 _Clay_ …

Her little brother, and the stubborn bastard whom her heart refused to let go of. She couldn't face the reality that both may be gone. It was too much.

And then, there was the fact that _someone_ had sold them out to the enemy.

A sickening chill crept through her. She'd had her suspicions, even before Mandy had quietly raised the alarm.

Swallowing against the constriction in her throat, Davis forced herself upright. She clamped her eyes shut, desperately trying to steady her breaths.

It was important that she find Mandy.

The two of them needed to have a talk, as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not used to doing such long chapters, but it feels like the right fit for this story 🙂


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much everyone for the encouragement :) I feel like at some point over this past week I've lost the heart for this story a little bit. Perhaps it's the current state of the world, who knows. Anyway, hopefully inspiration strikes again and I can get my head back into it. Thanks for reading - and a reminder that I know very little about anything, so my writing is often me flying by the seat of my pants ;)

It was nearing sundown - the last of the day's light fading from their narrow prison, shadows becoming deeper. An impossibly painful chill penetrated Sonny's legs from the frigid ground, and he found himself shifting against it, trying to escape.

It gripped his body like a vice, his muscles seizing in protest. His ankle was the worst – aching with an intensity that made his stomach churn.

His teeth chattered, and Clay's weight was an aggravation to his bruised ribs – though he didn't dare unfold himself from around his little brother. As uncomfortable as it was, the warmth between them was their best chance of survival.

The silence was excruciating. Sonny found himself muttering under his breath, trying to break the awful stillness. No birds, traffic sounds, crickets or rustling leaves. No laughter around the fire pit, beer cans hissing open, or end-of-day banter being thrown around. None of the usual noises he associated with this time of day – at home, or back at the Afghani base.

Casting his eyes skyward, he peered up through the mouth that had swallowed them whole. The opening teased him, wind whistling down over the lip like laughter. They were like beetles in a jar, completely unable to escape. Not that they could have gone anywhere, even if they'd wanted to - the two of them were about as useless as broken sacks of bones right now.

His flashlight lay beside him, switched off. It would get awfully dark, real soon, but he was conscious of not wasting batteries.

Readjusting Clay's weight for what seemed like the hundredth time, Sonny shifted him over, leaning the younger man's head against his opposite shoulder.

Clay's body suddenly stiffened.

Sonny startled at the unexpected movement. It took him a frantic handful of heartbeats to realize that his little brother's eyes had fluttered open. "Hey -" he said quickly, voice as calming as he could manage, though his jaw locked from the cold. "You with me?"

Clay pushed against him, blinked around wildly.

Sonny tightened his grip; shifting one hand to the younger man's chest, the other gently across his forehead, keeping him close. "You're okay," he assured. "It's Sonny. I got you."

But Clay kept trying to straighten, groaned with the effort. "No, Sonny … lemme up -" His voice was raspy.

Perhaps it was the use of his name - or perhaps the surprising clarity of Clay's tone. Sonny released his hold, and Clay struggled upright.

Tilting to the side, the younger man dry-heaved, his body rigid. Nothing came up, but it sounded painful.

Sonny carefully placed a hand on Clay's good shoulder to steady him, rubbed a gentle circle. Caught him when he fell backwards once more.

Clay lay, gasping for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

"Deep breaths," Sonny coached. "You're a little banged up. Dislocated left shoulder, wound down near your hip, same side. Hit your head." He hoped that by quickly filling in the blanks, it might help orient Clay. "You've been out for a while."

Clay swallowed roughly, tried to pull himself upright again. Gave up when the effort seemed too much.

"Easy," Sonny cut in, holding him steady. "We ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon."

At his words, Clay sagged.

Sonny shifted him lightly to the side, repositioning Clay's head back against his shoulder. He could just make out his little brother's features in the fading dim – eyes squeezed closed, brow pinched. "Talk to me," he urged. "You hurtin' anywhere I've missed?"

Clay huffed, and it was almost a half-laugh. "Everywhere," he muttered.

Sonny quirked a lip, just happy that Clay was conscious and sort of talking. He needed to keep him that way. "Yeah," he agreed regretfully. "Seems we took a bit of a dive, inside the damned mountain."

Clay's eyes cracked back open, and he blinked, trying to get a look around.

"RPG must've opened this hole up," Sonny filled in. The light was nearly gone, making it difficult to appreciate the space. He reached down, flicked the flashlight on and swung the beam around to illustrate his point - before flicking it off again, and returning them to near-darkness. "Radios are broken."

Clay's breath hitched. A steady tremor traveled through him, passing into Sonny. "The guys?" he croaked, voice small.

Sonny swallowed painfully. "Pretty sure they made it over the ridge."

 _Pretty sure_. But not certain.

A moment of heavy silence hung between them, neither voicing the possibility that the rest of their team were all dead, scattered somewhere in the snow above them.

"We just gotta sit tight." Sonny's words carried a constant tremble. "They'll come for us." He had no doubt that help would arrive – he just wasn't sure _when_ , and if it would come too late.

Clay didn't reply straight away, and for a moment Sonny worried that he'd passed out again. He gave his little brother a jostle. "Clay?"

Clay shifted, winced at the movement. He blew breaths in and out of his nose, possibly attempting to quell his own rising panic, or pain. After a moment, he jerkily turned his face, glancing part-way back to Sonny. "You okay?" There was genuine concern in the question.

Sonny allowed a small, broken laugh. He was far from okay, but he would pretend, for the sake of his brother - and their combined morale.

Clay saw straight through it. Tried once more to pull himself upright, possibly to get a better look for himself.

Sonny held him firm, grunting against the movement. "Quit squirming. Hurts less, for both of us."

Clay abruptly stilled.

Sonny patted his boy's uninjured shoulder, coaxed him to lean back again. "Warmer together," he explained, wrapping his arms around Clay's chest once more, holding him close and tucking his chin into the half-frozen wool of Clay's beanie.

Clay released a shuddering breath, made a sound that may have been an attempt at a laugh. "Never wanted to be this close to you. Should've at least … bought me dinner first."

Sonny felt his lip twitch. "I'll buy you breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a bunch of flowers if we make it out of here," he replied through chattering teeth.

"We'll make it out," Clay offered, trying to inject confidence. His tone fell short.

Sonny didn't miss the subtle correction of his 'if'. Swallowing against the agonizing tension of seizing muscles, he shifted marginally, attempting to relieve a particularly brutal cramp in his back. The movement disturbed his injured ankle, and he sucked in a breath, biting out a curse as pain stabbed through his leg.

Clay startled, pushing up. "What's wrong?" His voice pulled tight with concern.

Sonny's head spun. He breathed through the pain until it subsided to a barely acceptable ache, waved his brother's worry away. "'m good."

"Bullshit," Clay countered, struggling to keep himself upright.

Knowing that his little brother wouldn't leave it alone, Sonny gave up pretending he was fine. "Ankle's fucked," he admitted, ignoring the roll of his gut.

Clay attempted to move, get a better look.

Sonny grabbed the younger man's jacket sleeve as Clay swayed dangerously, gently pulled him back. "Least of our concerns," he dismissed. One broken ankle wouldn't matter, if they both froze to death.

They sat, drawing shaky breaths, teeth chattering. Clay's head dropped back against Sonny's shoulder with a light bump. The warmth between them felt minimal against the oppressive chill, but it was better than nothing.

The darkness grew thicker by the minute - light no longer reaching beyond the ravine's tight opening. The temperature continued to fall, and Sonny knew that their odds of surviving the night weren't good.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he refused to dwell on that reality. Clay's weight against his chest increased, and Sonny promptly returned his attention to his brother. "Hey," he pushed. "No sleeping."

Clay gave a slight jerk, as if pulling himself back to awareness.

Sonny felt uneasy that he couldn't see his brother's face – couldn't tell if Clay's eyes were open or closed. He reached a trembling hand to the side, suddenly remembering his water flask. Snagging the cap's loop, he brought it around in front of them.

Fingers clumsy in his gloves, he opened it, and held it up to where he guessed Clay's lips were. It bothered him that he'd only just thought about it. His thoughts were flaking, becoming harder to string together. "Drink," he suggested, accidentally bumping the flask against his brother's chin.

Clay turned his face away.

"One sip," Sonny pressed.

"Sound like Trent."

Sonny huffed, thoughts flicking to their team's medic. He and Bravo Four gave each other grief on a regular basis, but it was all in good fun. What he would give for Trent to crash their party right now …

Hesitantly, Clay took the flask. His own gloved hand shook violently. He sipped, causing him to cough and splutter, nearly gag.

Sonny grabbed the flask before it could drop. "Swallow, not inhale." He patted Clay's back, as his little brother tilted forward. "You good?" he questioned, once the coughing had subsided.

Clay shuddered, leaned his head heavily back against Sonny's shoulder. Made a noise that was neither a yes or a no.

Sonny wrapped his arms around Clay's chest once again, feeling the younger man's trembling, shallow breaths.

They were both familiar with the stages of hypothermia. Even with his slightly disjointed thoughts, Sonny understood that they were well and truly into stage one.

Determined to focus his attention on something that wouldn't destroy his already frayed nerves, Sonny cleared his throat, tucked his chin atop Clay's beanie once more. "What d'you say we play a game," he suggested, jaw painfully stiff from the cold. He jostled Clay lightly, attempting to elicit a response so that he knew his brother was still with him.

Clay groaned.

Sonny continued, "It's called, _what I'll do if I make it out of this fuckin' hell-hole alive._ "

Once again, Clay latched on to the 'if', threw a half-hearted correction.

Sonny apologized, amended it to 'when' – although they both knew that the former was more realistic. "I'll go first," he said, trying to keep their patchy conversation going. " _When_ I get out of this here hell-hole, I'm gonna take a vacation." There was a slur beginning to form in his words. "Somewhere warm," he added. "Like Hawaii."

Clay snorted. "Hawaii has sand." His voice was quiet, raspy. "You hate sand."

Sonny felt his neck stiffen with a particularly violent tremble. "Beach sand's different," he argued.

A moment of silence fell between them. Sonny nudged Clay in an attempt to chase it away. "Your turn. C'mon."

"Game sucks." A mild slur joined Clay's words together as well.

"Too bad." Sonny curled his fist, reached under Clay's vest and rubbed knuckles against his jacket-covered chest. "C'mon," he repeated. "No sleeping."

Clay inhaled jaggedly, his weight increasing again, muttered a curse.

Sonny refused to back down. Rubbed knuckles once more.

Clay shifted against the discomfort, eventually gave in. "Gonna burn -" he coughed, voice faltering. He fished it back. "My fuckin' snowboard."

Sonny huffed. "That's the spirit," he replied, echoing the sentiment. He was given so much shit for hating snow, but right now, he felt like he would take all the shit his brothers dished out - and then some - if it meant seeing them again.

Casting a brief glance upwards, he felt the mountain sinking into the impossibly black night. What would the sun's light find, when it spilled down into the ravine once more? He pictured their two frozen bodies, huddled together.

"Your turn." Clay's voice was a whisper.

Refusing to be pulled under by hopeless thoughts, Sonny cleared his throat, held Clay marginally tighter. "I'm gonna drink the bottle of whiskey I've been saving for a rainy day," he half-slurred. "The whole damned thing. And never save anything again."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

The atmosphere surrounding the base was heavy, as everyone attempted to carry on despite the oppressive weight bearing down upon them. The tension was palpable, and grief lingered silently, waiting to be acknowledged and allowed in. No one dared refer to Bravo's two missing team members as KIA - although the assumption remained unspoken, passing subtly in muted conversation and dragging feet.

Davis pushed through the thickness, willing herself forwards, despite feeling like she was moving in slow motion.

Blackburn had eyed her, once she'd composed herself and returned to her post after breaking down in the shower room. He'd gently suggested she take a break, get something to eat. Normally she would have argued, but she was too spent - and the emptiness in the satellite feeds only amplified the emptiness within her. She'd agreed to take a short break, secretly grateful that it would allow her time to hunt down Mandy.

Crossing the base, she felt the chill of night nipping at her cheeks. The day's light had faded from the sky, darkness snatching the last of it from the horizon in an anemic sunset. Blinking rapidly against the blurring lights of the buildings around her, she held back tears once more.

The world kept turning, and night had fallen just as it did on any other day. Only it wasn't _any other day_. And though the world kept turning, _her_ world was crumbling beneath her feet.

Pulling her attention to a singular point, Davis pushed on towards the building directly ahead of her. She was so focused that she didn't hear her name being called, or the footfalls catching up with her. It was only when someone snagged her elbow, that she startled, turning abruptly.

Reiss held her sleeve, eyes concerned.

More roughly than was probably necessary, Davis jerked her elbow free, skin prickling.

"I just wanted to check you're okay," he hastily explained, backing off a little.

"No, I'm not okay," she bit back, too emotionally charged to be having a conversation right now.

Hurt flickered across his features, but he nodded, understanding, and held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

Letting her eyes close for a moment, Davis drew herself together. "I'm sorry," she breathed, meeting his concerned gaze.

Reiss reached out, and sympathetically squeezed her shoulder.

Davis tried not to flinch at the touch. She pushed a splinter of a smile, hoping that it came across as genuine. "I just need some space," she admitted quietly, voice breaking.

He let his hand linger for a moment, before withdrawing it slowly, eyes softening.

She took another step towards the building, grateful that he'd taken the hint without argument.

Reiss squeezed a thin smile, but the corners of his mouth remained turned downwards. "If you want to talk …" he offered gently. "You know where to find me."

Davis swallowed against the lump in her throat – and the increased pounding of her heart. She nodded tightly.

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but she didn't allow him the chance. Resuming her course, she turned and carried on towards the building.

Once she got there, she hesitated a moment before entering, casting a quick glance behind her.

Thankfully, Reiss had gone.

Drawing a shaky breath, Davis stepped through the doorway, picking up the pace as she followed a badly lit corridor to its end.

Knocking gently at a closed door, a new wave of emotion threatened to overtake her. She pushed it down, refusing a repeat performance from earlier. She'd had her cry. Now was the time for focus.

There was a lengthy pause, before Mandy's voice wearily called her in.

Davis cracked the door open, stepped through the narrow opening, before turning and closing it quickly behind her.

The room was unwelcoming. A high, narrow window sat shuttered against the night - its horizontal aluminum blinds bent in places, letting in an orange glow from the bright outside lights. A long, fluorescent bulb lit the space, its effect poor. The desk, shelving, and filing cabinets were well past their used-by dates, clinging on for dear life. The concrete floor was scuffed, harboring the ever-present grit that seemed to seep into all the buildings here.

Mandy sat, hunched over the desk - two laptops open, and a pile of papers that looked to have been hastily re-gathered under her elbows. Her face was pale, eyes shadowed in a way that Davis imagined mirrored her own. There was dangerous, grim determination set in the line of her jaw; the type she got when she was on a mission to take someone down. She drew a long breath, straightened her shoulders.

Without a spare seat, Davis approached the desk, perched on the edge. "Anything?" she asked, voice not quite working properly.

Mandy sighed, tilted her neck one way and then the other, as if trying to relieve tension. "Nothing solid," she admitted, before adding, "Yet." With an air of frustration, she absently she fiddled with her sleeve. "Any sign of our boys?"

Davis bit her lip, heart hammering uncomfortably. She shook her head.

Mandy pursed her lips, eyes glassier than normal. "How are the others?"

Davis swallowed thickly. Cleared her throat. "About as good as you'd expect. Jason's finding any excuse not to take his eyes off that mountain. They're meant to be taking shifts checking ISR, but I don't see him leaving."

Mandy's gaze slipped out of focus, as she continued to fiddle with the fabric. "It's his only link to Clay and Sonny at the moment."

Davis felt the weight in her gut roll at Mandy's words. She'd had the same issue, stepping away. It felt like she was abandoning the two of them, even though she knew that wasn't a rational thought. She shook it free.

They couldn't search for Clay and Sonny until morning. Now was the time to focus on what _could_ be done - like finding the person responsible for feeding Bravo's location to the rebels.

Davis cast a glance back towards the door. Slipping off her perch, she crossed the room and locked it. "I need to talk with you," she stated, shifting gears on her tone and pinning Mandy with a steady look.

Mandy met her gaze, twitched a brow.

Davis crossed her arms over her chest, steeled herself. The words hurt coming up, but she forced them out anyway. "I think Reiss is the leak."

Mandy was good at keeping a poker face. It was her job, after all. If Davis hadn't known her, she would have missed the ripple of emotion that passed behind hazel eyes.

Mandy tucked her hair behind her ear, drew a steadying breath. "What makes you think that?" There was no doubt in the question. It was more a request for the reasoning behind such an accusation.

Davis let her hands drop, resumed her position on the edge of the desk. "Too many dots join up," she admitted, shaking her head in frustration. "Samin being burned, for starters. Reiss was the one who interviewed him and let him go."

Mandy pulled her eyes away at the mention of her former acquaintance-turned-informant.

Davis pushed on. "The attack on Sidiqi, and subsequently Bravo, just after they went to collect him. The timing of that was highly questionable."

Mandy rocked slightly in her chair, listening.

"And then, there was the fact that when the guys went after the courier, the rebels had enough fire power and enough of a heads-up to blow the tunnel nearly down on them." Davis leaned forward, jabbed a finger upon the desktop. "It's no coincidence that as soon as we figured out the courier wasn't just transporting medicine, but weapons as well, our boys got spotted and blown up on that mountain."

Mandy ran teeth over her bottom lip, held her reply.

"The common denominator," Davis finished, tone darkening, "for _all_ of those things, is Reiss." She stopped tapping the table, drew her hand back and raked it through her hair. "He helped obtain a lot of the intel, had the means and the contacts to dispense that information." Her heart hammered violently, and she had to pause to take a breath, push her rising emotions back down again. "I don't have proof," she muttered. "But all signs point to it being him."

Silence settled between them. For a moment, Davis worried that Mandy would brush her off – tell her that her concerns were unfounded.

But there was a glimmer in Mandy's eyes – acknowledgement, and perhaps a hint of pride.

Davis latched onto it. "You don't disagree," she stated, feeling both hope and dread at the prospect.

Mandy took another few moments, seeming to fish for her words. "I don't disagree," she confirmed, eventually.

Davis felt her stomach drop. Although she'd mentally prepared herself for this moment, having her suspicions echoed by Mandy was encouraging, and shattering, both at the same time.

Mandy reached into a drawer, pulled out a compact hard-drive. "I just haven't worked out how to prove it," she admitted.

Davis eyed the hard-drive.

"I'm thinking that if we can get the data off his cell phone -" Mandy waved the small device. "- then we _might_ find something that backs up our suspicions."

Davis chewed her lip, thoughts churning. Reiss kept his cell phone on him at all times. It was usually in his trouser pocket. It wouldn't be easy to get hold of, unless …

Feeling something cold settle in her gut, Davis swallowed uncomfortably. "I can get it for you," she offered, words thick as they passed her lips.

Mandy crinkled her brow, began to shake her head.

But Davis cut her off. "Give me an hour," she pressed, snagging the hard-drive. She gripped it tightly, smothering the tremble that threatened her hands. "I have an idea."

Mandy regarded her for a long moment, expression caught somewhere between hopeful and worried. She didn't ask what Davis had in mind - and Davis didn't offer to elaborate.

Licking her lips, Mandy eventually gave a stiff nod. "Okay," she said, simply. There was a question lingering behind her eyes, a sliver of hesitation.

Davis pocketed the hard-drive. Returned the nod. "Okay," she agreed. Her gut turned. The last thing she wanted to do right now, was get close to Reiss. But she'd let her guard down around him and he'd possibly cost Sonny and Clay their lives. Nothing she could do would ever make that right, but this might at least help to take some of the hurt away. If he was indeed responsible, then she needed to be part of bringing him down.

Mandy's features softened marginally. She readjusted her position in her seat, tucking her hair behind her ear again as it swung across her cheek. "I'm sorry," she stated, voice uncharacteristically fragile, sincerity heavy in her tone.

At first, Davis thought she was referring to Reiss, and the fact that she'd been foolish enough to fall for the man.

But Mandy just shook her head. "I know you're close to Clay," she explained, words slow and careful. "But Sonny …" She let the rest of the sentence hang unsaid, pinning Davis with a sad, knowing look.

Davis felt her breath catch.

 _But Sonny_ …

Sonny was more than a friend - had been more than a friend for a long while. Even when he'd fucked things up, gone off the rails and had been sent back to Texas – even when he'd joined them here only a few days ago, and she'd blown him off because she'd been having fun flirting with Reiss …

In her heart, he'd stubbornly remained _more than just a friend_ \- which was such an annoying, 'Sonny' thing to do, digging his heels in and refusing to budge.

"You knew." Davis' voice broke around the edges. It was a statement, not a question.

Mandy gave a soft smile. "I'm CIA," she replied gently. "It's what I do."

Davis huffed at that. She tried a faint smile of her own, but it fizzled out before it had the chance to settle on her lips. She couldn't crumble again. Not right now. Not when they had work to do.

Pulling herself together, she pushed up from the desk, drew a steadying breath. The hard-drive was a subtle weight in her pocket. "One hour," she confirmed. Cleared her throat. "I'll get what we need." There was a steady resolve settling in her gut, pushing against her churning anxiety.

Mandy regarded her a moment longer. "Be careful," she warned.

Davis gave a clipped nod, turned and moved to unlock the door. She hesitated, her hand pausing on the latch. She cast one more look at her long-time work colleague and friend. "You should check in on him," she suggested.

Mandy frowned, confusion settling across her features. "Check in on who?"

Davis' lip twitched. She arched a brow. Did she really have to spell this out? " _Jason_ ," she prompted.

Mandy continued to feign confusion.

But Davis caught the light twitch of her eyes, the hint of color brush her cheeks. "I might not be CIA …" She said, allowing a small smile. "But I'm learning from the best."

Mandy opened her mouth, possibly to deny the suggestion.

But Davis flicked the lock, pulled open the door.

Whether Mandy argued or not, Davis didn't stick around to find out. She'd suspected that there'd been something brewing between Jason and Mandy for a long time. In truth, she was surprised it had taken this long for them to figure it out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I made it through the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading and for all the encouragement everyone, it means a lot. And apologies for any mistakes! x

Jason blinked at the computer screen in front of him. The black-and-white image of the snowy mountain somehow looked more haunting at night. Nothing had changed; no sudden, miraculous sign of either of his men. And with every painful second that ticked by, he was acutely aware that _somewhere_ , down in the snow - or under it - Clay and Sonny lay … alone _._

It was enough to wring his insides and grate at the back of his throat. It was enough to threaten to either send him to the floor in a sobbing mess - or lose it and break everything around him, in helpless despair.

Sitting here, watching ISR, left him feeling completely useless. And yet … it was all he had.

"Jase," Ray's gentle voice came from behind him.

Jason didn't turn around. Ray had already come to relieve him, twice, but each time Jason just hadn't been able to step away.

"C'mon, brother." Ray's hand fell upon his shoulder, the weight grounding. "Let me sit, for a while. You need a break."

Jason's eyes swam in and out of focus against the glare from the screen. He blinked rapidly, scrubbing a hand to clear them.

"You need to eat something," Ray carefully pressed. "Shower. Get some air."

Jason allowed his eyes to fall closed for a moment, thoughts caught in a loop of picturing Sonny and Clay buried under the snow.

Had they been conscious, and struggled for air? Were they hungry? Were they completely frozen, inside and out?

How could he take a break, when two of his brothers were lost? It felt wrong on so many levels. And yet, deep down, he knew Ray was right.

It was nearing seven PM. They had a long way to go before first light. If he didn't take a breather, he would be useless come the morning - and Sonny and Clay deserved better than that.

Forcing himself upright, Jason turned and regarded Ray. He gripped the back of the chair in an attempt to prevent himself from returning his attention to the screen.

Ray gave a small nod. "I got this," he assured. "Let me watch, just for a little while."

Jason heard the unspoken _please_. He pursed his lips, feeling the corners of his mouth tremble. He had to remember that Ray was hurting, too. Watching the mountain felt a little less like they were abandoning their boys, and he needed to allow Ray the opportunity to dull the sharp edges of his grief as well.

"Trent and Brock?" Jason questioned. His voice sounded distant, disconnected.

Ray sighed. "Back at the barracks. Trent finally took painkillers, is laying down. Brock's working with Cerb."

Jason grunted, barely registering the words. He hesitated a moment longer, before realizing that he was supposed to be moving out of the way, allowing Ray to take his place. "Half an hour," he stated, tone brooking no argument. "I'll be back."

Ray gave him a dissatisfied look, but didn't push. He'd known Jason long enough to know which battles were worth taking up, and which were a lost cause.

Jason flicked a glance at Blackburn as he made his way to the door. He questioned whether their commander had sent for Ray, just now. Most people sent for Ray, when the needed help dealing with a stubborn, hot-headed, or emotionally charged Bravo One.

Pushing out of the command center and down the corridor, Jason stepped into the night. The cold air was a slap in the face, stinging his nose. He hugged himself against it.

The mountain was much colder. Were Clay and Sonny still alive, huddled somewhere? Were they even close enough, to find each other?

He swallowed against the grating constriction of his throat.

Had one of them survived, but the other not made it?

He stumbled slightly, boot catching in the dust.

God, was one of them holding the other's lifeless, blue-tinged body, begging for help?

Jason didn't head for the mess hall, nor did he head for their barracks. He walked towards the perimeter, the darkest corner he could find. In a spot where the wall looked sturdy enough to withstand his assault, he lay into it – kicking, cursing, punching.

Finally, he staggered back, chest heaving - his knuckles burning, bruised, and a little bloody.

Shoving his throbbing hands under his arm pits, he folded forward against the sting. It ached and ached and ached, but still, it didn't override the pain within him, like he'd hoped.

Straightening, and landing one more violent kick to the wall, he raked a hand through his short hair and tilted his eyes skywards.

Despite the glare from the base's lights, the stars were visible. Had the universe gained another two today – burning brightly, somewhere up there in the darkness? Two more brothers down, two more names to add to the list on his phone.

He couldn't bear it. Not this time.

Over all these years, he'd cracked and cracked, but somehow, he'd always managed to mend the cracks …

This time, the damage felt shattering. Irreparable.

Ray's words from earlier came back to him, and a ripple of guilt swirled in his gut. He knew he couldn't give up on Clay and Sonny, not until their bodies had been recovered and they were confirmed dead. But he couldn't deny that the situation felt hopeless, and he found himself wondering if clinging to the prayer that the two men were still alive was foolish. It would only cause them all to fall that much harder, when the last of their hope inevitably disintegrated.

Untucking aching hands, he shoved them deep into his pockets. He let his eyes fall back to the dusty earth.

He was supposed to be having a Skype session with Emma, but he just couldn't. Not tonight. His incredibly perceptive daughter would take one look at him, and instantly know that something was wrong. He didn't trust himself not to fall apart, and she didn't need to see that. Especially when he didn't know, exactly, what had happened to his missing brothers.

Forcing himself out of the shadows, he crossed to the mess hall. His legs were stiff, knuckles stinging in his pockets. He walked with purpose, slightly hunched forward, not wanting to meet the eyes of anyone around him.

Although it was dinner time, the mess was quieter than normal. Groups sat at tables, the atmosphere somber. Jason didn't look around as he made his way inside, not wanting to have to talk to anyone, or catch any sympathetic glances cast his way. His demeaner screamed _fuck off_ , and he wasn't sorry.

The sight of food turned his stomach, and he couldn't help the grimace that pulled at his face. Settling for snagging a plain bread roll, he turned and abruptly left. He thought he caught sight of Thirty in his peripheral, but he didn't slow down to find out.

Pushing himself towards Bravo's quarters, he attempted to force down a bite of the roll. But its texture was cardboard, and his jaw refused to work.

Managing a painful swallow, he crossed to the deserted fire pit. Hurled the remains inside the barrel.

He didn't linger to watch it slowly singe and burn against the glowing embers.

Casting a glance towards Bravo's main quarters, Jason's steps slowed. He should go in, check on Trent and Brock. But a weight held him back.

He couldn't face seeing Clay's and Sonny's bunks, their belongings abandoned exactly where they'd left them. Somehow, it seemed gut-wrenchingly impossible right now. He would have to face it at some point, but for the moment, he just couldn't.

Directing his steps towards the building to the left, he headed to his and Ray's room instead. Mechanically, he pushed open the door, flicked on the light. He was still in the clothes he'd worn up the mountain, sans vest, gloves, heavy jacket and beanie. It was tempting to leave them on, in preparation for their trip back in the morning. But, sensible thought dictated otherwise.

Clothes and towel under one arm, he made his way out to the shower room. He felt like he was on auto-pilot, watching his movements from the outside. Once there, he went through the motions of undressing, twisting on the water.

He lasted thirty-seconds.

The warmth of the water was oppressive, driving him out again. All he could think about were his two brothers, laying somewhere in the ice. How could he stand under warm water, when Clay and Sonny were frozen?

Wavering on the verge of hyperventilation, Jason frantically pulled himself together, leaning against the wall of the shower stall. Deep breaths, in and out, over and over, until the room finally stopped spinning.

Once he was confident he wouldn't completely come apart, he dried off, jerkily threw on his clothes. Hastily, he made his way back towards his and Ray's quarters - the cold night air grabbing at the wet patches his towel had missed.

Once inside, he slammed the door behind him, threw his belongings on his bed. Hands on hips, he paced the dark room, drawing shallow, jerky breaths.

The blinds at the high, narrow window were drawn, but the base lights made it through the cracks, allowing a small amount of light to fill the space. He stopped pacing, and stood, staring blankly at the window.

Behind him, the door clicked open softly.

Jason didn't turn, just kept counting breaths, watching the glow of light through the blinds.

The door clicked closed, lock turning.

Jason heard gentle footfalls, as someone tentatively entered the room. His brow creased, sensing his visitor's movements were lighter and more delicate than his 2IC's. Casting a half, over-the-shoulder glance towards the sound, he blinked through the dim.

Mandy stood, regarding him – eyes glassy, and sadness dancing over her normally hard-to-read expression.

And that did it.

Jason couldn't hold it together any more.

She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him and leaning into his chest, as he buried his face into her narrow shoulder and sobbed. Her long fingers carded his cropped hair at the back of his head, made their way down his neck to rest between his shaking shoulders.

He didn't need to explain himself. Didn't need to apologize.

She was his safe space.

And somehow, despite her delicate frame, she managed to envelope him in warmth; gently, but steadily, grounding him.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

The game had fizzled out, despite Sonny's best efforts to keep it going. The spaces between their answers had grown each time, and stringing together full sentences was becoming harder, as their jaws locked, and words slurred together.

Sonny had clicked the flashlight on, checked the time on his wrist watch – felt his stomach drop when he'd realized it was only seven-thirty PM. Flicking the light off again, he'd decided to keep that depressing fact from Clay.

"So …" he said quietly, his teeth chattering violently. "Tell me … about Rebecca."

They were both still shivering uncontrollably, which he figured was a good thing.

Clay shifted, took a moment to reply. "What … about her?" he mumbled.

Sonny readjusted his grip on the younger man. His discomfort had stopped coming in waves, and was now a continuous, half-numbed ache - which he figured probably _wasn't_ a good thing. "Anythin'," he answered. "'m sorry I haven't … asked much … about her." And he really was. His regret over how he'd treated Clay of late still latched onto him. "Was too busy … being a dick." He quirked a lip. "'m good at that … apparently."

Clay huffed. "'s okay."

Sonny knew. And he was grateful. Although he felt like he had a way to go in making it up to his best friend.

Another lengthy pause settled between them.

Sonny pushed through it. "You … love her?"

Clay hesitated, and Sonny wasn't sure at first whether it was from the hypothermia, or the fact that he was genuinely struggling for an answer. Eventually, one came. "Not sure." The words may have been slurred, but the tone was quietly honest.

It wasn't what Sonny had expected, and he felt himself frowning through the dark, chin nudging against the top of Clay's beanie. He searched for words, but Clay found his first.

"Not sure," Clay continued, "that we're on … the same page."

Sonny felt a mixture of relief and sadness at the admission. He didn't particularly like Rebecca, but he'd been willing to put those feelings aside for the sake of his friendship with his little brother. "What d'you mean …?"

Clay took another few moments to think it over – just long enough for Sonny to worry he'd drifted off. "Think perhaps …" he murmured, "she likes … the idea … of who she thinks … I can be." He shifted sluggishly against Sonny's chest. "Not … who I actually … am."

Sonny held Clay tighter. It felt like there was barely any warmth trapped between them, but they would stay this way until they were found - or until they slipped away.

"She supports … your new career," Sonny pointed out.

Clay's head shifted slightly in disagreement. "Think that's all … she likes … about me," he answered sadly.

Despite Sonny's dislike for Clay's girlfriend, he just wanted his brother to be happy. Clay had hinted that things weren't great with Rebecca, but Sonny had assumed it was sorted. "You having … second thoughts?"

Clay burrowed his head further into Sonny's vest and jacket, possibly seeking a warmth that just wasn't there. His breaths were shaky and shallow. "Yeah …" he confirmed. And then, after another moment, added, "About … a few things."

Sonny really didn't have the energy for this conversation, and he was sure Clay didn't either. But if they stopped talking, the icy darkness would inevitably pull them under. He could already feel his eyelids sagging, the temptation of sleep. It would be so easy to give up the fight, drift off. "You know … I'll have your back," he offered, by way of support. "No matter what."

Clay murmured his thanks.

Silence threatened again.

It was Clay's turn to push it away. "Someone wrote … a letter … about Ambassador … Marsden."

Sonny had heard.

"Pretty sure …" Clay continued, "people think … it was me."

Sonny had heard that the letter was making uncomfortable waves. He would admit, his first thought had been that Clay had written it. Their boy was a fan of rocking the boat – something Sonny both admired and worried over. Despite himself, he asked, "And …?"

Once again, Clay's head moved jerkily side to side. "Didn't … write it."

Sonny vaguely wondered who had, in that case, but was unsure whether it mattered. It would, potentially, if they made it out of here alive.

"Can you … tell them?" Clay all but whispered.

Sonny caught onto the sadness and regret in his boy's tone. It unsettled him, and he wanted to erase it.

"Tell them …" Clay said again, voice a little stronger this time. "I didn't … write it."

Sonny shook his head. "Tell them … yourself."

Clay was silent for a long moment. "I would never …" he said quietly, "put Bravo … in a bad position … like that."

Sonny found himself shushing. Clay was talking like he wasn't going to make it. He needed to steer the kid away from that type of thinking. "We'll … sort it out," he assured. "When we're out … of here."

Clay didn't reply.

Sonny jostled him lightly, although even that was getting harder to do, as his energy waned.

Clay gave a broken exhale. "Tell Jason …" he murmured.

Sonny tried to cut him off, but Clay pushed the interruption aside.

"Tell Jase … 'm sorry."

Sonny felt the anxiety in his gut swell. He wouldn't tell Jason any such thing, because Clay could tell him, _himself_. "What you got … to be sorry for?"

Clay lay shaking, horribly still. "Didn't leave things … that great … between us."

Sonny didn't exactly know what Clay was referring to, but once again, he refused to take responsibility for such a message. "You'll tell him … when you see him," he insisted.

"Sonny …"

Sonny tucked Clay's beanie further under his chin, adjusted his grip on the younger man. "Just … shut up … would you."

Clay didn't reply.

"Tell him … yourself," Sonny repeated.

Silence returned. The blackness surrounding them was so inky and thick, that Sonny thought he caught sight of stars glinting through the ravine's tight opening, watching over them.

His thoughts drifted to his recent time in Texas – Hannah, his father …

If it really had been the last time he would see his hometown, then at least he felt like he'd left on a good note. The seemingly irreparable rift between himself and his father had been mended. He hadn't realized how much he'd needed to hear his dad say that he was proud of him, until his old man had uttered those words. No matter what, a son needed to hear those words from his father. It hurt like hell to think that Clay would never get that from Ash.

"What … about you?" Clay's small voice pulled Sonny from his thoughts. "What about … you … and Davis?"

Sonny's heart skipped a beat. He waited a moment, before hedging, "What … about us …?"

Clay didn't reply.

Sonny felt his throat constrict, breaths become even more shallow. He might die here, and never see her again. Never tell her that, even after everything, he still …

"Y'think," Clay slurred, interrupting Sonny's sliding thoughts, "you guys … might ever give it … another try?" There was a small amount of hope lining his tone, and it simultaneously warmed and broke Sonny's heart.

Sonny tried, but couldn't, find his words. His voice vanished temporarily as his throat closed up. He felt his bottom lip tremble, knew it wasn't just from the chill. "I …" he started, but still no words came.

The reality of their predicament _hurt._ And thinking about Davis only made it hurt so much more. He might die here, and never be able to tell her that all he wanted was for her to be happy - even if she felt she couldn't be with him.

He'd never stopped loving her - despite re-visiting his old feelings for Hannah while he'd been in Texas. He doubted he would ever meet someone like her again. Davis was someone who _knew_ him - for all his strengths, and, even more so, all his faults. In this lifetime, she was, and would always be, the one for him.

"If we make it … outta here …" Sonny eventually answered, fishing his unsteady voice up from the depths. "I'll tell Lisa … what I should've told her … a long time ago." He swallowed jaggedly, glanced back up to the splinter of stars. "I'll tell her …" His words trailed off, the end of the sentence left hanging. He grabbed it back, tried again. "I'll tell her … I love her." The stars blurred as tears brushed his lashes "Even if … she can't love me … back."

Clay shifted slightly. His hand found its way to Sonny's wrist, and he shakily latched on, squeezed weakly. " _When_ … we make it …" came the suborn correction.

Sonny huffed, let his eyes close briefly.

Clay didn't release his hold, and Sonny didn't pull away – just focused on the gentle touch that grounded him.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Davis playfully pushed Reiss backwards onto his bed.

He lifted his head slightly, quirked a brow – surprised, but not unhappy, with where he guessed this sudden ambush was heading.

She climbed on after him, the thin mattress barely giving beneath her knees. Straddling his legs, she unbuckled his belt, shot him a cheeky grin. Releasing the button of his trousers, her fingers moved quickly, unzipping his fly.

Flashing another suggestive look, she shimmied his trousers down to his ankles. Once they were at the rim of his boots, she turned her back to him, leaned forward to work on the thick laces. She felt his hands roam over her butt as she knelt, wandering down her thighs.

"Are your clothes coming off as well?" he asked hopefully, slightly breathless.

She didn't reply, just shot him another saucy over-the-shoulder glance, and hastily threw off his boots.

His touch against the material of her clothing made her skin crawl, but Davis pushed the discomfort away. Reiss was as perceptive as Mandy, and she was determined to arouse _him_ , not his suspicion.

Turning again - relieved when his grabby hands fell away from her - she yanked his trousers off, simultaneously squeezing their pockets to feel for his cell phone.

Once she felt the tell-tale shape, a genuine smile brushed her lips.

Letting the trousers fall off the end of the bed, she crawled towards him and straddled his hips.

"You sure you're up for this?" he questioned, tone mildly concerned, though his eyes were hungry as he stared at her breasts and tugged at the hem of her shirt.

She replied by kissing down the fabric of his shirt, pausing to bite playfully at the band of his boxer briefs. "Need the distraction," she replied, making sure to sound flustered, breathless, and a little desperate – instead of wanting to vomit over the words.

He didn't argue, and the bulge in his briefs spoke for itself.

Sitting up tall, Davis pulled her shirt up and over her head. She winked at him as she backed off the bed. "No peeking," she chided, with a grin.

Reiss' eyes glinted excitedly.

Davis allowed her smile to widen, as she thought of how much she was looking forward to leaving him here with aching, blue balls.

Unbuttoning her own trousers, she began to lower them.

Reiss attempted to sit up, get a better look.

Hurriedly, she leaned a knee atop the bed, reached and pushed him back down again. "I said, no peeking," she ordered, reversing and undressing her lower half again.

He twitched a grin, teeth catching the dim light. "Yes ma'am," he answered with playful obedience.

Satisfied that he would stay put, Davis took her trousers to her ankles, subtly snagged the hard-drive from her pocket. Popping up and shooting him another playful, warning glance, she checked that he hadn't moved. Ducking down again with a smile, she fished his cell from his trouser pocket, connected the hard drive, and whispered a prayer that it would do its thing in time.

She'd set an alarm on her phone, adjusting it to match her ringtone. By her calculations, it would go off in about five minutes, possibly a little less. The hard-drive was programmed to download the contents of Reiss' cell phone in less than one minute, once connected. She would just have to get creative, in the meantime.

Not wanting to hesitate any longer, Davis climbed back onto the bed. She was in underwear and bra, with no intention of removing any more clothing.

Cracking what she hoped was a glittering smile, she straddled his hips once again, pressing down against him.

He groaned in anticipation.

But Davis refused to go beyond teasing – not that he needed to know that. She hung her face inches above his, set about kissing his jawline, his neck.

Teasing, teasing, teasing …

She managed to avoid crossing the line into something more, all the while ensuring that her affections were real enough not to alert him of her true intentions.

Just when she worried she might be out of stalling tricks; the blessed sound of her alarm met her ears.

Davis breathed a curse, briefly let her head hang in mock-disappointment. She raised her eyes to meet his, offering what she hoped was a heavy, apologetic look.

Reiss, for his part, had half-succeeded in undoing her bra. He dropped back against the mattress, hands falling away alongside a curse of his own.

Davis didn't waste a beat. She pushed off the bed, ducking down to grab the hard-drive before he could see it. She shoved it in her trousers pocket, smoothly exchanging it for her chiming phone.

Cell in hand, she straightened, eyes darting between the screen and Reiss' forlorn face. Clicking the 'off' button on her alarm, she held the phone to her ear, pretending to accept the fake call. "Davis -" she answered. Waited a beat or two, hardened her look into one of professionalism. "Understood. I'll be there in a moment."

Pretending to end the call, she regarded Reiss - still laid out half-naked on the bed. It was tricky to keep the satisfaction from showing on her face. "Sorry," she whispered, grimacing as she hurriedly pulled on her clothes. "Blackburn needs me back. I said I would only take a short break." It wasn't miles from the truth.

He waved a hand, watching sadly as she got dressed. Eventually he sat upright, swung his legs over the side of the bed and perched on the edge. He glanced at his bulging briefs with a heavy sigh.

Davis gathered herself, pushed a small smile. She approached the bed, leaned in and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. "Raincheck?" she suggested, knowing it was an empty promise, but feeling like it was the appropriate thing to say.

He returned the gentle smile, looking up at her. Bobbed his head. He reached out a hand, went to squeeze her ass.

She chose that moment to pull away.

 _Suffer in your jocks, asshole_.

Opening the door, she turned and cast one more sorrowful look his way.

The genuine disappointment reflected in his eyes said that he'd bought it, which was satisfying.

Stepping out into the night, Davis pulled the door closed behind her. Now she just had to hope like hell that the data from Reiss' cell phone would back up hers and Mandy's suspicions.

Shoving hands in her pockets and closing fingers around the hard-drive, a shiver passed through her. It had nothing to do with the cold night air. She shook away the lingering feeling of Reiss' unwelcome touch, heart hammering with the rush of what she'd just done.

Now that she was on the other side of it, the adrenaline was quickly replaced with the weight of anxiety and grief – as if they were waiting on the sidelines, ready to overwhelm her once again. Swallowing jaggedly, she attempted to re-focus, pushing against the storm of emotions swirling within her.

Fishing out her cell phone, she flicked Mandy a quick message to meet back in the command room. She figured it was best to keep up appearances by heading there, just in case Reiss happened to be watching.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, I'm sorry. Life has been pretty hectic lately, not a lot of time to write. I'll try to make up for it with the next chapter, but it might be a little while before I can update. Thanks so much for reading :) And apologies for any mistakes!

It was the longest, coldest night of Sonny's life. And as the hours ticked by, it became more and more apparent that it would probably be the last night of his life.

He couldn't have guessed that it would end like this. Bullets, grenades - hell, even the torpedo tube - seemed like a more fitting death for a Navy SEAL, than freezing atop a mountain.

 _Should've stayed in Texas_ , _cowboy …_

Clay's hand was still on his wrist, grip weak. Sonny gently pulled his arm away. He fumbled clumsily through the dark, stiffly interlocking their gloved fingers. Holding tight, he offered what little strength he had left - feeling Clay's fingers squeeze lightly against his in return.

There was no point checking the time. The glittering stars gave away the fact that it was still night. They would hang on for as long as they could, and if, for some reason, they didn't make it …

Well, Sonny just hoped that their brothers would know how hard they'd tried.

Clay's grip twitched once more, snagging Sonny's lagging attention.

"Son … ny …" The younger man's voice was horribly small. Full sentences were near impossible now, and the best they could do was broken pieces of words.

Sonny squeezed gently against Clay's fingers in answer.

Clay tried to shift, but the movement barely registered. "Been … hon … or …"

Despite the disjointedness of Clay's voice, his tone was clear. It was an admission of defeat, a wave of the white flag.

Sonny pinched his eyes closed, as if by doing so, he could un-hear it.

"Good … friend." Clay added in a whisper.

Sonny's throat hurt, eyes pricked. There was a numb ache that traveled through his whole body, and it had nothing to do with the icy cold. He shook his head – at least, he attempted to shake his head. "Quit … it …" he managed, trying to pull Clay closer, as if that could stop the kid slipping away.

Deep down, however, he understood the importance of what Clay was trying to say. _Just in case they didn't make it. Just in case their best efforts weren't enough_. He squeezed Clay's hand again – in sad, silent agreement. He still wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve the pain-in-the-ass little brother he'd found in Clay Spenser, but their friendship was one of the best damned things that had ever happened to him, and he would forever be grateful.

Clay didn't reply, causing Sonny to quickly repeat the squeeze, suddenly desperate for a response. They were walking frighteningly close to the edge, straddling that fine line between life and death. It was only a matter of time before one of them closed their eyes … and didn't wake up again.

Thankfully, Clay eventually squeezed back.

Sonny's panic unwound, but only by a fraction. His blurry gaze drifted skywards, and though he'd never been one for praying, he found himself begging whatever greater power sat amongst the stars to spare his little brother, take him instead. If Heaven needed a new arrival tonight, then please, God, let it be him. He couldn't bear it, if it ended up the other way around.

Clay had goals. Ambitions. He deserved to meet someone special, have a family someday.

Sonny had never pictured himself as a father - just as he'd never truly pictured himself growing old. Meeting Davis had changed those things, even if only for a little while.

His ship may have sailed. But Clay … Well, the kid still had all that, and more, to live for.

Sonny mustered the dregs of his stubbornness. "Not … sayin' … bye …" he muttered stiffly.

Clay was stubborn, too. But he was also realistic. Which was probably why he seemed to have weighed up their predicament, concluded that their chances of survival were slim. Even his usual optimism seemed to have evaporated, which was unsettling.

Sonny found himself scrambling - a desperate attempt to gather it back up. "They'll … come …" he assured. Though his previous conviction had thinned. He clutched defiantly at its last strands, squeezing Clay's fingers once again to emphasize his point.

After an entirely too-long moment, Clay weakly squeezed back.

Sonny tried his best to gather his little brother closer, hold him tighter as if he could keep them both there until help arrived.

But it was a losing battle, and, just like treading water for hours on end, he felt the weight of fatigue growing heavier - waiting to eagerly drag them down into the forever-dark.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason hadn't slept. None of them had slept. Doing what was logical and sensible had been completely overridden by the gravity of the situation, the weight of loss within each of them.

Grief didn't rest. Anxiety and bone-shattering despair didn't rest.

And so, they didn't rest. Despite how hard they'd all tried.

The night felt unnaturally long. At some point between one and three AM, Jason switched tactics – completely disregarding the notion of sleep and filling up on caffeine instead, shaking his thoughts and body into some form of alignment, ready to hit the ground running as soon as they were cleared to leave.

It seemed that the others came to the same, unspoken agreement. Coffee mugs in hands, hovering around the command center instead of their quarters, they joined in somber solidarity, offering small portions of what felt more and more like empty hope.

Even Cerb seemed a little lost – nudging each of them, whining, sniffing around as if trying to locate their missing team mates. If any of the support personnel minded a dog roaming around the room, they wisely held back their arguments - a few even leaned down to scratch at the canine's ears, as if comfort could be found there.

Blackburn came and went, the bleariness of his eyes betraying his own inability to rest. And Davis popped in and out, features set in some form of grim determination, as she attempted to busy herself to keep from falling apart.

Which is what they were all doing, really, in their own ways. Even in the moments when they felt lost for something to do, no one dared stand still. They were planes locked in a holding pattern, low on fuel, and stopping meant stalling, inevitably going down.

Around four AM, the remaining members of Bravo headed back to their main quarters to gear up. Jason didn't miss Trent's stiff movements, as Bravo Four stuffed each of their packs full of every sort of medical supply he could get his hands on - checking off pre-prepared, scribbled lists. There were lines around his eyes that gave away the fact he was hurting far more than he was letting on.

Catching Trent's sleeve, Jason pinned their medic with a steady look. "Hey, you good?" It was a stupid question.

Trent pursed his lips into an even thinner line, shook his sleeve free. Returned to his packing.

That was a no, then.

"Don't want to have to carry you off that mountain as well." The words were harsh, and Jason felt bad dealing such a blow under the circumstances. But it was his job to look out for his men, especially when they were too stubborn – or hurting - to take on that responsibility for themselves.

A splinter of something akin to defiance flared behind Trent's eyes, which Jason both hated and understood. "I'm good," came the lie.

Jason sighed, backed off. He just had to trust that Trent would recognize his limits, speak up if he wasn't managing. Although, he had to admit if the roles were reversed, nothing would stop _him_ from heading back to find their boys. He would drag himself, battered and bloody with missing limbs, if need be, to find them and bring them home.

Trent snagged a pack, tossed it in Jason's general direction with barely a backwards glance. Nodded towards a stash of IV lines, bags of fluid, vials of morphine and packet syringes.

Jason didn't argue, just shook the pack open and got to work.

Trent appeared to be taking his over-preparedness to the next level on this one – possibly an attempt to control a completely out-of-control situation. Jason got it. He bit back the urge to ask whether he should pack the couch and television, as well – wisely deciding that the comment was better saved for another time.

The last hour was the hardest. 0530 was the earliest they were approved to leave. The skies were clear, and the sun would crack the horizon half way through their journey. The pre-dawn light would be enough to illuminate the treacherous mountain peaks, which was thankfully good enough for their pilot.

The atmosphere in the command center was thick, tension ramping up. They'd spent the entire night itching to leave, but now that the eagerly awaited window was finally approaching, hesitation crept in.

Once Clay and Sonny were found, there would be no pretending anymore. The small amount of hope they held, that their boys were somehow still alive, would either be allowed to grow – or completely shatter. And, despite their desperate need to locate their lost team mates, none of them felt quite ready for that.

Jason worried how he might react if they pulled two lifeless bodies from the snow, as opposed to finding them alive. Every time his thoughts went there, he grabbed them back, frantically trying not to dwell on that possibility. But denial could only stretch so far. Deep down, he knew that he needed to at least _try_ to prepare mentally for the worst-case-scenario, as much as it broke him.

Fifteen minutes before they were due to depart, Jason was feeling the cracks. Running through final check-lists with Blackburn, he began to involuntarily shake. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep coupled with too much caffeine, as opposed to the growing sense of dread within him. He was already close to losing it, struggling to pull himself back together, when Reiss burst into the room – abruptly announcing they had a new lead on Al-Hazred.

Jason dismissed the man nearly as soon as the agent began spewing information. But, as Reiss continued, throwing words around like _urgent_ and _priority_ and _great importance_ , he couldn't help but tune in, hackles slowly rising.

"Charlie team are due back any moment," Blackburn reasoned, voice cool. "Once they're here, we'll assess whether they're good to head back out."

But Reiss wasn't having a bar of it. The man held a sense of urgency that rubbed Jason up the wrong way. He hadn't had much to do with the guy, but Mandy didn't speak overly highly of him, and that was enough for Jason to remain wary.

"By the time the other team gets back," Reiss argued, arms folded across his chest in frustration, "we may have _lost_ our window." He gestured around at Bravo. "The intel's solid. The time to move is _now_. We have a team geared up and ready to go, and I'm sure we can gather a few extra guys to make up numbers."

That got Jason's full attention. He rounded on the man, hands on hips, glaring dangerously.

Reiss wasn't intimidated, and he casually shrugged off Jason's ire, carrying on. "Surely going after Al-Hazred trumps a recovery mission -"

That did it. Jason saw red. He launched at the man, his body reacting before he could stop himself.

Pushing the agent back, he slammed Reiss against the nearest wall, pinning him there with a forearm across his throat. Distantly, he heard Blackburn's shout to stand down, but he ignored it - choosing instead to get in Reiss' face, press harder against his throat. " _What did you say_?" He growled.

"Jase -" Ray pulled at his shoulder.

Jason locked eyes with Reiss, gaze narrowing, daring him to attempt to repeat his careless words. " _Rescue_ ," he grit. " _Not_ recovery. This is a _rescue mission_. Got it?"

Despite his precarious position, Reiss' eyes glinted, as if savoring the fact he'd hit a nerve.

" _Stand down_ , Master Chief." Blackburn's tone was sharp.

Reluctantly, and without reducing the intensity of his glare, Jason allowed Ray to pull his arm from Reiss' throat. He stepped back unsteadily, jaw locked and heart hammering.

Reiss crumpled forward, hand fluttering dramatically to his collar. Straightening, his dark, icy eyes met Jason's.

Jason spun away, resisting the urge to knock Reiss' teeth out. His gaze skimmed Trent and Brock, catching the spark of anger echoed in each of their expressions – and the glimmer of approval.

" _When_ Beau and his guys return from their night recon," Blackburn repeated pointedly, spearing Reiss with a steady look – a not-so-subtle reminder of who actually called the shots around here. "We'll look at sending them out again."

Jason huffed, picturing Beau and Thirty chomping at the bit; eagerly pouncing at the opportunity to take out the renowned terrorist and claim that title for themselves. _Fuck it_ , he thought bitterly, _let them have that notch in their belt_. Wars would continue, more terrorist leaders would rise. It never ended. Jason's priority was, and would always be, his team. And right now, two of his brothers needed him, so the world and its wars could go to hell.

Much to Jason's surprise, Reiss went to argue again.

But Blackburn firmly cut him off. "Two of my men are _missing_ , Mister Julian," he stated frostily. "Bravo aren't in any position to go after Al-Hazred. They're unavailable. So back off."

Reiss stood his ground, shifting irritably, eyes stormy.

"I would suggest," Blackburn continued, nodding towards Davis, "that you and Davis go through the intel, double-check details, and are ready to brief both myself and Charlie, once they return."

Jason didn't miss the way Davis' shoulders stiffened, very slightly, at the suggestion. His brow twitched as he regarded her, trying to pinpoint where her head was at. But his thoughts were interrupted by the door to the command center flying open and Mandy charging in, with a pissed-off Full Metal in tow.

She made a bee-line for Reiss, clutching a small metallic object in one hand. Without missing a beat, she balled the fist of her other hand, pulled it back, and slammed it against the other CIA agent's jaw.

Jason's mouth fell open.

Reiss stumbled back with a curse – eyes wide with shock.

Even Blackburn was caught off guard. He went to talk, but Mandy cut him off.

" _That_ was for Samin," she announced, tone venomous and chest hitching as she glared at Reiss. " _And_ Clay, _and_ Sonny."

Jason felt his stomach drop.

Mandy didn't take her eyes off the man in question. She lifted the object in her hand, which appeared to be a small hard-drive, shook it damningly in Reiss' face. "Ratting our guys out to the enemy?" she spat, twitching a humorless smile and shaking her head. "You really thought you'd get away with that?"

Ray's sudden grip on his elbow was the only thing that held Jason in place, as the reality of what Mandy was implying hit him and the rest of the guys like a ton of bricks.

"Let me guess," Mandy continued, tone darkening further. "You got a convenient lead on Al-Hazred, and you were hoping that Bravo would be sent after him so that you could tip the rebels off again, take out the rest of the team."

This time it was Trent who had to be restrained, Brock grabbing him just in time before he flung himself across the room with a vicious curse.

Reiss shook his head in denial, expression stony as he massaged his jaw. "That's madness -"

" _Or maybe_ ," Mandy pushed on, raising her voice slightly, "Charlie would be sent instead, and you could take _them_ out. Is that it? Knock out our best, to clear a path for your friend, Al-Hazred?"

Jason had a lot he wanted to say, but his words stuck, shock rippling through him at the accusations. The urge to rip Reiss limb from limb caused every one of his muscles to tense, and he was grateful for Ray's grounding grip, now on his shoulder.

Reiss inclined his chin, expression indignant – very much reminding Jason of Ash Spenser. "You can't -"

Once again Mandy cut him off. " _I can_ ," she growled. "And I _have_." Holding the hard-drive up towards Blackburn, she nodded stiffly at the commander. "I have proof that you leaked sensitive information to the enemy. And you and I," she folded her arms over her chest, regarded Reiss with cold satisfaction, "are going to have a chat."

For someone so slight, Mandy could be damned frightening when she wanted to be.

"Get him out of here," Blackburn directed Full Metal, barbed tone and words sharp around the edges.

"With pleasure," came the answering growl. And with a nod towards the four remaining members of Bravo, Alpha's team leader reached forward and grabbed Reiss roughly by the shoulder - ignoring the man's pathetic protests at being manhandled.

Mandy allowed Full Metal to lead the way, turning to the others before following him out. Gathering herself, she exchanged a weighty, emotionally-charged look with Davis and Blackburn, then shifted to her attention to Jason. "Leave Reiss to me," she stated. "Just focus on finding our boys."

Jason's knuckles tingled in her wake, and his heart refused to settle down. He felt his chest and throat constrict at her words. He glanced at Ray, Trent, and Brock. Cerb whined, regarding him, tail thumping and ears back.

"C'mon," Ray spoke up, nudging Jason's elbow. His eyes settled briefly on Davis. "Time to go."

Davis looked away, eyes tired and glassy.

Jason drew a shaky breath, rattled his thoughts back in order. "We're not leaving that mountain without them, got it?" he announced, to no one in particular.

Blackburn didn't argue that statement. Simply said, "The hospital in Kabul is on alert. We'll call through your arrival, should you need it."

Jason nodded, exchanged a look with Trent. Bravo Four would make that call, if they were lucky enough to find Clay and Sonny alive.

Gathering himself as best he could, Jason made his way towards the door – spurring the others, one by one, into action. "Let's go," he stated - trying, but failing, to disguise the tremble in his words.

Leave Reiss to Mandy, leave the damned wars to everyone else. Their one and only focus, right now, was finding their lost brothers.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

It began as a dull glow.

The stars faded, and the lip of the ravine became visible once again. Black night turned to pre-dawn dark blue, and then lightened further, the light catching and glinting gently off the ice closest to the opening.

Sonny blinked blearily upwards, groggily tracking the slow change of colors. Distantly, he realized it was a good thing. But his thoughts were a haze of confusion, and it took more than a few moments to connect the dots.

He wasn't shivering anymore, and as far as he could tell, neither was Clay. He still gripped the younger man's hand, although his fingers kept slipping. His entire body was fuzzy with numbness, lacking the sharp aches and pains that should have been there – which he knew wasn't a good thing.

"Clay …" Sonny whispered, although he couldn't be sure that the sound actually made it over his lips.

Clay didn't respond.

Sonny tried to squeeze his brother's hand, only just managing a twitch of his fingers.

Nothing.

Sonny knew, even without checking, that Clay had drifted off. He could barely feel the gentle rise and fall of each of his boy's shallow breaths against his chest, but he didn't have the energy to remove a glove to check for a pulse. Perhaps it was better that way, he thought dully. If, and when, his brother slipped away, he would be helpless to do anything to stop it. So perhaps it hurt less, not finding out for sure.

"Hold … on," Sonny muttered. He tried to make it sound like an order, but the best he could do was a small sound that possibly didn't even reach Clay's ears.

They'd fought their way through, and morning had found them. Surely, someone would come for them. Their brothers would find them. Light meant hope, and Sonny wasn't ready to let go of that just yet.

Despite his own falling lids, shallow breaths, and loosening grip on reality, Sonny held on to the hope that someone would come, and silently urged Clay to do the same.

His last thought, before he followed his little brother into the merciful arms of oblivion, was that if Clay didn't make it, then, God, please keep him as well - because he didn't want to face coming back alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, on the downside, I've been sick the last few days. But on the upside, I've had time to do this chapter :) And it got away from me a little bit, I must admit. So many apologies again for any medical inconsistencies or mistakes. Thanks again for all the feedback and support, and for reading! Keep well x

The chopper flight passed by in silence. Jason blinked absently out the sides at the drifting scenery - golden sun rays glinting off snow-capped peaks, illuminating areas of white whilst leaving crevices and rocky gullies untouched, their shadows dark and deep. Just yesterday he'd marveled at the beauty of this place; today, he regarded it with a sense of dread that penetrated his bones.

Mentally a thousand miles away, he let his vision slip out of focus, thoughts washing in and out of past and present. His mind seemed set on tormenting him, pulling him backwards a handful of years, to the first time he'd met Clay.

He'd never planned to draft the cocky kid. He'd never planned to see Clay as anything more than Ash Spenser's arrogant son. He'd sure as hell never expected to grow close to his rookie – to end up thinking of him on a similar level as his own children; stepping willingly into the fatherly shoes vacated by the elder Spenser.

Some days, it angered him that despite his best efforts, Clay had got under his skin. Bravo Six had managed to become not just a team member; but a brother, a friend, and a son all rolled into one. Jason had cursed him more times than he could count, lost his mind at the younger man's carefully-calculated recklessness (that bordered on brilliance) more times than he cared to admit. And now, his infuriatingly stubborn, ambitious, hot-headed, one-hundred percent irreplaceable boy was …

Gone.

Possibly forever.

And it fucking _hurt_.

It hurt so God-damned much, that Jason's stomach threatened to drop through the floor of the chopper, pulling the rest of him down with it.

Tightening his grip on the handle he'd been clutching since take-off, he blinked against tears and the light of the rising sun. With a huge amount of effort, he tore himself away from the pain, attempting to re-focus on the very small splinter of hope still left within him.

There were times when he felt like the world viewed them as expendable, simply call-signs on a government payroll. And whilst there had been times when he'd viewed _himself_ that way, he'd not once viewed any of his men through that same jaded lens.

He couldn't lose Clay. He couldn't lose Sonny. He couldn't lose any more pieces of himself to other people's wars.

But his thoughts were a broken record. It didn't matter how much he refused to accept the fact that both his team mates might be dead – at the end of the day, that decision wasn't his to make. And that's why it was so shatteringly painful.

Blackburn's voice crackled over comms, announcing they were five mikes out from their drop zone. Davis confirmed that there was nothing showing on ISR; as far as she could see, the area was clear for miles. It meant that they could get closer to the ridge where they'd last seen Sonny and Clay, check out the shadowy crevice they'd spotted on the satellite feeds the day before.

Their pilot swung the bird around, over the ridge and back again to their chosen location. As they looped overhead, Jason caught sight of the narrow, gaping hole in the snowy mountain side, and his heart drummed harder at the sight.

The darkness beyond the opening looked ominous. The shape of the slit looked like an evil, crooked mouth. _Or doorway to an icy tomb_. His stomach clenched, hairs raising at the back of his neck, and he returned his attention to the inside of the chopper, trying to re-center himself.

Mechanically, they prepared for the descent. Jason wasn't ready for this. He absolutely wasn't ready.

Eyes skimming his team mates, he caught the same sentiment radiating off each one of them.

With equal measures hesitation and haste, they dropped their ropes as the chopper hovered. Fluidly sliding down to the surface below, their feet impacted the snowy ground – with two sets of boots less than yesterday.

Once the icy white kissed the bottom of Jason's tucked-in trousers, he gathered himself. Saluting the chopper, he informed HAVOC that they were on the ground. Taking a moment to look around at the others, he pulled a steadying breath.

The chopper tilted away, and the silence left in its wake pressed upon them. The shadows on this side of the ridge felt impossibly cold, as they stood, tucked away from the morning's light. The cold from the ground crept up through their boots, displaying a solid disregard for the heavy material and thick soles.

Jason's insides constricted. He didn't feel like Bravo One right now. That hard-skinned man with the ability to compartmentalize was unavailable. But, studying his brothers once again, he realized that perhaps, under these circumstances, it was okay that he didn't completely fill that role.

This wasn't a normal op. They were all currently missing a piece of themselves, and so perhaps in that sense, they each had a part to play in leading and supporting each other.

"Let's do this," he stated hollowly, adjusting the pack on his back and tightening his grip on the handles of a second pack that held ropes and harnesses. They each carried more than their usual share of equipment - an attempt to be ready for whatever awaited them up ahead.

Brock swung his pack to the ground. He pulled out Sonny's cap, followed by a shirt of Clay's. Holding them down to Cerb, he allowed the dog to sniff, take in the smell - before replacing the items and giving the canine the command to search.

Cerberus lurched forwards, nose nudging through the snow, sniffing a path towards the ridge.

The rest of them hurried behind, pushing their tired bodies up the same hill they'd brokenly stumbled down yesterday afternoon.

The ridge was as they'd left it – blown away in places, gouges out of ice and rock. No new snow had fallen, and their old footprints remained clear. Cerb sniffed eagerly, whilst Jason worked hard to keep his mind from drifting.

The dog pulled up to the ridge's crest, whining and wanting to head over the top. Brock ordered him to stay, and Jason fished a rope and harness from his hand-held pack.

Bravo Five hurriedly secured their furry team mate.

Jason glanced over the ridge, keyed his comms. "HAVOC, this is One," he said, gaze roving over the snowy slope ahead of them. "Dog has a scent. We're sending him over the ridge. How copy?"

There was a pause, and Jason blinked against the glare of the sun. The uneven slope made it difficult to see where the crevice was. No wonder none of them had noticed it yesterday in the brief glances they'd managed to snag during the mayhem.

"Copy that, Bravo One," came Blackburn's steady reply. "We have eyes on your location. Opening is approximately twenty feet directly downhill from the ridge."

 _Twenty feet_. Jason cast his mind back, picturing where he'd last seen Clay and Sonny. Twenty feet behind the rest of them sounded about right. He flicked a glance at Brock, nodded once.

Brock gave Cerb's back a quick tap, and the dog was off – harness secured around his middle, long rope trailing back to his handler.

The rest of them stood, peering over the lip of the ridge. No one dared breathe as Cerberus got down on his belly, crawled cautiously towards where the hole should be.

Once he was there, he paused, seemed to peer downwards. Casting a glance back to the ridge, he let out a series of abrupt barks – eyes darting back to the hole and whining, ears pinned back.

"He's got something," Brock stated, words shaky, quiet but confident. He tugged gently on the rope, whistled for Cerberus to return.

Jason's heart was in his throat as the dog hesitated, reluctant to leave the edge of the crevice. Eventually, he obeyed, slowly reversing back towards the ridge.

"HAVOC, this is One," Jason relayed back to command. "Dog's confirmed that they're somewhere down in that hole. We're going in."

"Copy that," came Blackburn's tight reply. "Proceed with caution."

Jason swallowed jaggedly, eyes skipping to the snowy slope. There was no way to tell how stable it was. They would follow the path Cerberus had taken, trusting their furry team mate had chosen the best angle of approach.

Trent was already strapping on a harness, handing Brock a rope.

Jason wasn't entirely convinced that Trent was okay to climb down into the hole, but the medic was their best hope if they happened to find their boys alive. Which, Jason reminded himself soberly, was highly unlikely.

"Right," he stated, grabbing a harness of his own and clipping it around his waist with trembling hands. "Ray, you're on me." He uncoiled a length of rope, attached one end to his harness, handed the other end to his 2IC. "Brock, you've got Trent."

"Be careful," Ray warned. "Go slow."

Jason nodded, understanding. As eager as he was to get down into that dark crack, he was conscious of not becoming careless in his haste.

Another weighty look traveled between the four of them – an unspoken acknowledgement of the fear of what they might find; along with a breath of strength, unification.

Jason tore his gaze away, reached out and gripped the jagged top of the stony ridge.

Behind him, he heard Ray utter a quiet prayer – a final plea to the one who he believed held power over life and death.

Without another thought, Jason keyed his comms. "HAVOC, this is One. Bravo Four and I are heading down."

Blackburn's acknowledgement came through, and Jason took the lead, heading over the ridge with Trent following closely behind.

Dropping their bellies to the snow, they crawled their way down Cerberus' chosen path. Jason felt a deep chill fill his nose and mouth, as his breath rebounded cold air off the ground. Sunlight glinted brightly off the white around them, almost blinding in its intensity.

Twenty feet felt like fifty, as they moved downhill, slowly and carefully.

Finally, Jason inched his way to the lip of the ravine.

The opening was long and jagged, though only about four feet wide. _Just big enough to swallow a man_ , he thought grimly, pulling in his elbows and propping himself up just short of the drop.

Glancing back to Trent, he checked that his number four was keeping up.

Trent's expression held a grimace, but he bobbed his head stiffly, indicating he was good.

Jason returned his gaze forwards, shakily inhaled. He wasn't ready, at all. But this was it; he _had_ to be ready. Numbly keying his comms, he updated the others. The rope attached to his harness tightened in response to his announcement that he was going to make his way to the edge, take a closer look. He trusted that Ray wouldn't let him fall.

Heart stuttering mid-beat, Jason pulled himself towards the hole. He fought the instinct to back-peddle, forcing himself to inch forward until he was staring down into the shadows. Flicking on his flashlight, he swung the beam around.

There wasn't much to see – clumps of snow, ice and rocks, littering the narrow floor of the ravine, some twenty feet below. For a moment, his heart sank, gaze failing to catch any sign of their missing brothers.

"Anything?" Trent's tone was tight, borderline-desperate.

Jason let out a defeated breath, leaning his forehead briefly into the snow. Lifting his head again, about to turn back to Trent to deliver the bad news, his eyes caught on something that made his already erratic heart take it up another notch.

Trent noticed the change in demeanor right away. "What is it?" he prompted urgently, inching forward – not that there was room to come up alongside Jason without deviating from Cerb's original path.

Jason blinked down into the shadows, to be sure he wasn't seeing things. He let his light settle on the object.

 _A boot_.

A _familiar_ boot, just visible. God, was it still attached to its owner? Jason couldn't be sure from where he was perched. The shadows were too deep.

"What is it?" Trent called again.

But Jason didn't reply, thoughts tumbling. Either the boot had been blown off and had fallen down into the pit, or there was someone tucked away against the wall of the ravine. He desperately flicked the flashlight beam around, but it failed to reach the area he needed to illuminate – catching instead on a part of the wall that jutted out slightly, as if there was …

An overhang.

Snapping himself back together, Jason pushed up to elbows, turned to Trent. "I see a boot," he breathed. "Definitely one of theirs. But I can't see _them_. I think there might be an overhang, and there's a chance they're underneath it."

A whole host of emotions rippled across Trent's features, but they didn't linger. He quickly replaced them with the hard determination that characterized Bravo Four. Jason could practically see him switch from grieving friend, to capable medic, in less than a heartbeat. "Let's get down there," came the tight reply.

Jason had already made that decision, keying his comms and looking back to Ray and Brock, whose heads were visible above the ridge as they anxiously watched on. "Ray," he spoke, official call-signs out the window for now. "I think I see something. I'm heading down."

"Copy that," came the reply. And then the reassurance, "I got you."

Jason had no doubt about that. "Trent will follow, once I'm at the bottom." He cast another look down into the crack. "It's about twenty feet down."

A thumbs-up from Brock, and Jason switched channels to update HAVOC. Once he was done, he turned back to Trent. "Overhang seems to be on the left," he indicated the lip of the ravine. "I can see the wall on our side goes straight to the bottom. We'll go in right here, don't go any further around in case we destabilize the overhang." _And bring it down on whoever might be tucked underneath_ , remained unsaid.

Trent nodded, understanding, readjusted his pack.

They each had a second bag, clipped to their belts, that held collapsible gurneys and harnesses. Jason desperately hoped that they wouldn't be lifting two lifeless bodies out of the hole – although it remained a horribly real possibility. He did his best to steel his nerves, measure his breathing, as he turned and backed his way towards the edge.

The wall of the ravine was slick with ice. Jason tried, but found no grip with his boots. "Too slippery to climb," he reported to Ray. "Lower me. Go slow."

Ray obliged, and Jason used his gloved hands to keep himself from scraping down the wall, walking them as best he could. The chill and the shadows thickened, the deeper he went. The ground wasn't overly far down, but the descent was agonizingly slow, and felt like an eternity.

Boots finally on the ground, he trusted that Trent would follow. Flicking on his flashlight, he spun it to where he'd seen the boot. "Clay? Son -?" His voice cut off, mid-word, as the light fell on the bodies of his friends and the sight hit him like a slap in the face.

Lurching forwards, he forgot the rope at his waist. It only gave about a foot before it reached its full length – jarring his body with the sudden halt.

Frantically un-clipping his harness, Jason stumbled forwards, simultaneously yelling up to Trent that he'd found them. Fumbling with his comms, he told Ray that he'd detached the rope, had eyes on their boys.

Jason didn't hear either reply. His full attention was stuck on Clay and Sonny, huddled under the overhang – both of their eyes closed, features frightfully still. He scrambled forwards, ignoring the scrape of rocks and ice beneath his knees. "Clay?" He repeated, voice broken, almost pleading. "Sonny?"

Ripping off a glove, he reached a trembling hand. He couldn't breathe. His heart pounded in his too-tight chest.

Sonny was seated, back against the wall. Clay sat, leaning back against his team mate's chest - face tilted downwards, with one of Sonny's arms wrapped limply around him. Both men's lips were purple, and there were bits of ice in their short beards as well as the hair that peeked from their beanie rims.

Jason's flashlight bobbed as his hand shook violently, causing the light to dance. Streaks of ice glistened down Sonny's cheeks, and Jason felt the pressure within him increase painfully at the realization that his tough-as-nails Bravo Three must have been crying.

Numb and unravelling, Jason's bare fingers fumbled under Clay's collar, pressed up against the younger man's neck. "Clay?" He whispered fearfully, knowing that the chance of feeling a pulse was incredibly slim.

Trent was suddenly there beside him, making Jason worry just how quickly his medic had descended into the hole. Trent pushed through, pressing his own fingers against Sonny's neck.

Shock, surprise, and relief simultaneously barreled through them, as twin beats thrummed, frighteningly slow and weak against their fingertips.

Jason and Trent's eyes met, hope flaring suddenly in the gloom.

 _Holy shit_.

"We gotta get them out of here," Trent spoke, words jumbled in his rush to get them over his lips. "They wont last long, if we can't get them to a hospital."

Jason felt as though someone gripped him by the shoulders, shook hard. His mind snapped into focus and he felt a tsunami of urgency course through him.

What could be worse than finding Clay and Sonny dead?

 _Finding them alive, only to lose them_.

Hope and urgency brought clarity, and suddenly, Bravo One was back. "HAVOC, this is One," Jason spoke rapidly into his comms. "We've got them. They're unresponsive, but alive. Requesting chopper be ready to pick us up in twenty. Call it through to Kabul. Stand by for further update."

There was a brief pause, before Blackburn came back. "That's a good copy, One." Even across the crackling comms line, Jason heard the relief lining their commander's words.

He flicked his radio to Ray. "We've got them," he relayed, near breathless. "They're alive, and hanging on."

Ray came back within half a beat, as if he'd been poised with his finger on his comms. "Copy that." A brief pause, and then he added, more softly, "Thank God."

Jason would thank Ray's God himself, if it turned out they'd found their brothers in time.

Trent had a penlight, was quickly inspecting both Sonny and Clay's eyes. "Likely concussion for each of them," he fired over his shoulder, probing gently at a gash above Clay's brow.

Jason shuffled back. "Tell me what you need." In situations like this, he was happy to defer to Trent.

Trent maneuvered his pack off his back, tossed it behind him along with his already un-clipped second bag. "Assemble the gurneys, get the straps and harnesses ready. Heat packs – there's a couple in my pack. Get them going."

Jason was moving, without a second thought, scrambling to follow the rapid-fire instructions.

"Cervical collars," Trent continued, gently feeling around Clay's head, under his beanie. "Grab them out, we'll get them on before we move either of them. And have Brock start heating some saline bags. Ray's got extra heat packs, they can use them. I wont start IV's until we're topside."

Jason relayed the information to Ray, whilst hurriedly fishing for the collars.

Trent gently but quickly patted down Clay's arms, un-clipped the front of his vest to get a look beneath layers of clothing. He stopped with a frown when he caught sight of dried blood at the hem of Clay's undershirt, the patch of gauze taped just below his belt-line. Peeking at the wound underneath, Trent muttered that it could wait. "Either he patched himself up," he stated, working his way down each of Clay's legs, feeling for obvious injury. "Or it was Sonny."

Jason chewed his lip, hating the unnatural blankness lining his injured brothers' faces – faces that normally never lacked expression; their mouths worryingly still in the absence of usual smart-ass comments or commentary. "They were conscious, for a while," he concluded.

Trent moved from Clay to Sonny, seeming satisfied that the younger man was okay to be moved. "One of them was, at least," he replied hollowly.

Which really wasn't any better. Jason swallowed roughly, fiddling with a collar.

"Get that on Clay," Trent directed, gesturing vaguely at the object in Jason's still-trembling hands. "We'll move him first, as soon as I've checked Sonny."

Jason scooted forward, shaking away thoughts of what hell his two trapped team members must have endured; stuck here through the icy night, potentially conscious and aware of their dire predicament, with no way to reassure themselves that help would arrive.

Fumbling with the collar, he opened it and gently passed it around Clay's neck – unsettled by the complete lack of resistance from his boy. "Clay?" he found himself saying, urging some form of response from the kid. "You hear me, buddy?" His voice cracked, but he snatched it back. "It's Jason." He roughly cleared his throat. "Trent's here too. We're gonna get you out of here, okay? Just hang in there for me." Letting his hands linger a moment, he cupped Clay's frighteningly cold cheeks, before returning his attention to Trent.

Trent had made quick work of checking Sonny, but was paused over the Texan's right ankle, expression grim. Gently lifting the hem of Sonny's trouser, flicking his pen light beneath thick sock and over blue-tinged skin, it didn't take a medic to notice the significant swelling, and that some of the blueness was angry bruising.

"Broken?" Jason questioned. Though he already knew the answer.

"Badly," came the stiff reply.

Trent left the ankle alone, scooted back towards Clay. "I don't have a splint," he stated, almost apologetically. "We'll tie his legs together at the knees, to reduce movement, once we get him on the gurney. I'll give him a dose of morphine before we lift him, in case he comes to." His tone was slightly distant, as if talking through thoughts for his own benefit. "We'll move Clay first." He nodded towards one of the gurneys. "I'll grab his legs, you tilt him forwards carefully and take him under the arms. Try not to let his head drop. And be careful around his left shoulder."

Jason got up beside Clay, threaded gloved hands under his boy's armpits. Slowly, he pulled the younger man against him.

"On three," Trent directed. "One, two, three -"

They lifted at the same time, but Jason felt something snag, pulling at Clay's left arm. "Hold up -" He quickly lowered Clay back down. "His hand's stuck on something."

Hurriedly feeling through shadows for the problem, Jason's breath caught as he realized what the issue was.

Releasing Clay gently so that he could flick on his flashlight, he swung the beam down beside the younger man, throat constricting at the sight that greeted him.

Sonny's fingers were intertwined with Clay's, stiff from cold, locked together. Trent had hastily patted down their brothers' arms, but had missed their laced fingers on one side.

Swallowing thickly, Jason gently broke the connection between the two men – feeling a pang of sadness and regret shoot through him as he did so. "Okay," he breathed, glancing back at Trent. "All good. Let's try again."

After another count to three, they had Clay off Sonny – tilting and lifting him carefully away, before slowly lowering him down onto the gurney.

Jason braced Clay's head, holding it steady, as Trent quickly re-checked the younger man's vitals.

"Pulse is way too slow," the medic stated, shaking his head. "Breathing too shallow. Get some heat packs on him – groin, armpits, and as close to his neck as you can with the brace. Then secure him. I'll check Sonny again now that Clay's off his front."

Jason didn't argue, grabbing heat packs and promptly following the orders. Somehow, he resisted the urge to sob at the blue tinge of Clay's skin, the angry bruising and light swelling across the kid's left shoulder. As carefully as he could, he secured the harness and straps, taking a moment once he was done to try to smooth some of the stiff curls away from his boy's forehead. But they wouldn't flatten, which only served to break him further.

"Right -" Trent's voice pulled Jason's attention away from the fact that Clay had so much ice in his hair. "Help me with Sonny."

Jason pulled himself away from the younger man, fighting his reluctance to leave Clay's side.

Sonny was trickier to maneuver, heavier than Clay and with a broken ankle they were trying not to jar. It took a lot of grunting and cursing from both Jason and Trent, but they managed to get the burly man down upon the gurney.

Once they were there, Jason didn't miss the moment Trent took to sit back on his hunches, wipe at his brow. It caused worry to stir in Jason's gut, but he set it aside, reminding himself that he was trusting Trent to know his limits – although those limits had probably gone out the window with their urgent need to get their brothers to a hospital.

"How're things going down there?" Ray's voice crackled in Jason's ear, startling him.

Fingers still frustratingly unsteady, he keyed his comms with an update. "Just about ready to head up. Give us a moment to figure out how we'll do this."

Trent set about packing heat bags into Sonny's clothes, before fastening the harness and straps. Once he was done, he pulled a vial of morphine and a syringe from his pack.

Jason watched Sonny's face as Trent injected the drug. But the Texan didn't even flinch at the rough jab in his thigh, and Jason felt foolish to have hoped that he would.

Moving quickly back to Clay, Trent once again checked the younger man over.

"Right," Jason breathed, gaze skipping from Clay to Sonny, before swinging upwards to the mouth of the ravine.

Just how were they going to do this?

After a moment of tumbling thoughts, he came to a decision. "I'll head up," he stated, pushing to his feet. "Once I'm ready, you send one of them up on the other rope." He hastily attached the end of one of the ropes to his harness again. "I'll guide the gurney onto the path we made through the snow, and Ray and Brock can pull it back to the ridge. Then we'll repeat the process."

Finishing his inspection of Clay, Trent nodded stiffly, not even questioning Jason's reasoning. "We'll send Clay up first," he decided. "His pulse is slower. Tell Ray that they'll need to start him on an IV as soon as they get him, one of the warmed bags of fluid. Get a thermal blanket on him straight after, monitor his vitals."

Jason's eyes settled on Clay, stomach rolling with anxiety.

 _Hold on_ , he pleaded silently.

But of course, Clay was too far away to even know that they were there.

Without wasting another moment, Jason keyed his comms. "Ready to come up," he instructed Ray. "Me first. Once I'm up, I'll give you the okay to pull the other rope, which will be attached to Clay."

"Copy that," Ray replied, and the rope at Jason's waist pulled tight.

Slowly, Jason lifted off the ground. He hated that he was unable to find any hand or foot holds to assist in his ascent. He forced himself to focus on his destination, instead of back down to where his two injured brothers lay, trusting once more that Ray wouldn't let him fall.

The lip of the ravine came into reach, and Jason clutched at it. Fingers slipping on the ice, he managed to somewhat guide himself up and over, with Ray and Brock doing most of the work.

Once he was up, he threw a quick thumbs-up towards the ridge. Swinging himself around, he peered back into the shadowy hole. "Okay," he called down to Trent. "Say when, and I'll let them know to pull Clay up. I'll try guide the rope."

The other rope ran past him through the snow, sunk into a groove it had carved during Trent's descent.

Trent finished checking that Clay was securely fastened. Eventually, he glanced up, gave a nod. "Ready."

Keying his comms, Jason let Ray know. He twisted in time to see his number two and five shift their grip to the other rope.

"Copy that," Ray replied.

"Nice and slow," Jason reminded, reaching down and trying to hold the rope as steady as he could without pinching his fingers behind it.

Gradually, the gurney Clay was strapped to lifted from the ground, tilting but not tipping as the four-point harness did its job.

Jason forgot how to breathe, for the entire time Clay was pulled upwards. Finally, the gurney was close enough that Jason could reach and grab the harness, guide it up and over the lip.

"Hold up!" he called, heart hammering uncomfortably as he paused. Quickly, he checked Clay's vitals.

Muted relief washed through him as he felt the still weak pulse, noted the still too shallow breathing. Withdrawing his hand from Clay's neck, he shifted off the snowy path.

Once he was out of the way, he signaled for Ray and Brock to resume pulling the rope.

The gurney began sliding up along the frozen ditch. Jason struggled to keep it together as he felt every painful inch of distance grow between himself and Clay.

Forcing his eyes away, he moved back onto the path. Un-clipping the rope from his harness, he returned to his belly, slid carefully to the edge of the ravine once more. "Heads up," he called, lowering the rope.

Trent straightened from where he'd been crouched beside Sonny, grabbed the swinging end. Hastily, he clipped the rope to Sonny's harness.

Jason pushed up, glancing back to the ridge to check on Clay's progress. Taking a moment, he keyed his comms. "HAVOC, this is One," he checked in. "Bravo Six is out, nearly at the ridge. Bravo Three will be up next."

"Copy that," Blackburn replied. "Chopper is fifteen mikes out. Pilot will circle if you're not quite ready. Kabul is prepped for your arrival."

Jason's thoughts drifted to the hospital in the Afghan capital. It wasn't ideal, but the base infirmary wasn't prepared to treat advanced hypothermia, or x-ray broken bones.

In all honesty, he'd never even dared hope that they _would_ be taking Clay and Sonny to Kabul. The most likely scenario had been bringing back two corpses.

 _Still might be the case,_ his mind taunted.

Shaking himself together, he quickly acknowledged Blackburn's response, before turning his attention back to Clay.

Ray had hopped over the ridge, was guiding the gurney up to Brock.

Jason watched them work, catching sight of the top of Cerb's head as the dog jumped up against the ridge on the other side, eager to get to their youngest.

Once Clay was out of sight, Jason's comms crackled. "Clay's secure," Ray reported. "Brock's starting an IV. I've switched ropes."

"Copy that. I'll help you pull Sonny. Stand by." Jason grabbed the rope that disappeared down into the hole. Wriggling to the edge, he gave Trent a thumbs up. "Ready when you are," he called.

Bravo Four's face tilted upwards, and he nodded.

Jason narrowed his eyes. Trent's pallor was off, or perhaps it was just the light. Batting his worry aside, he reminded himself once more that he needed to trust that his medic knew his own limits. "Tell me if I need to stop pulling," he instructed, before scooting back from the edge, and getting as good a grip as he could manage.

Slowly, slowly, Sonny was pulled upwards.

"Two feet to the top," Trent's voice came across comms.

Jason heaved the rope again, tugging in sync with Ray. He didn't dare let go to use his radio, just kept pulling.

When Trent's voice buzzed in his ear again, warning him that the gurney was at the rim, Jason halted, holding up a closed fist as a signal for Ray to cease pulling.

"Holding," came Ray's confirmation in his ear. "You can let go, I got it."

Jason's arms shook from the effort. He swung around, facing downhill, and walked his hands back along the rope as he crawled to the edge once more.

The harness was within reach, and he grabbed it with one hand, holding firm to the rope with the other.

Trent anxiously looked on from below.

"Let Ray know to pull again," Jason called down at his number four.

Trent quickly keyed his comms, relaying the request.

Jason felt the rope go tight, grit his teeth, and pulled along with Ray to get the gurney up and over the edge. "Hang tight," he instructed Trent. "I'll be back with the rope once I've got Sonny to the ridge."

"Not like I'm going anywhere," came the grumble from within the hole, followed by a half-audible comment about not being Spiderman.

Jason quirked a lip, despite himself. Getting behind the gurney, he pushed the base of it uphill along the snowy path, keeping in time with Ray's pulls on the rope.

Halfway up, Sonny groaned.

Jason's pushing faltered, and for a moment he thought his ears had played a trick on him.

But then Sonny groaned again, eyes fluttering to a crack.

"Whoa -" Jason said, but his voice was lost in his scramble to get alongside Sonny's head where his brother could see him. "Whoa!" He yelled, louder this time, as Ray pulled once more on the rope.

Flicking one hand to his comms, and resting the other atop Sonny's chest, Jason hurriedly told Ray to hold up.

Sonny's eyes were half-mast, gaze unfocused. He wasn't trying to get off the gurney, thank goodness, but in the slit of blue Jason caught confusion and pain.

"Hey," Jason breathed, getting as close as he could, and trying to catch the swimming gaze. "Sonny? You hear me?"

Sonny didn't acknowledge, just moved his chapped, blue-tinged lips, eyes still searching.

Jason tried again. "It's Jason." His voice wobbled. "You're okay. We got you. Just hang in there, okay? We're getting you out of here."

Sonny's lips kept moving, mouth opening and closing silently.

Jason leaned closer, catching a rasp of sound. He tilted his ear to try to hear whatever his brother was trying to say.

" _Cl …ay._ "

Jason's heart sank, realizing Sonny was panicking for his little brother. An image of the two of them, huddled together in the dark, fingers interlocked, assaulted him, and his vision swam. "We got him," he hastily assured, words unsteady. "He's okay." It wasn't entirely true, but he wouldn't burden Sonny with the weight of worry for their youngest man. "Just, lay still, okay?" He patted the Texan's chest, tried his best to catch and hold the still-wandering gaze. "We're getting you both out of here."

Even despite the slitted view of Sonny's pupils, Jason caught the flash of uncertainty and fear. There was nothing more he could say about Clay, without it being a flat-out lie. So he settled for gentle reassurance instead. "You did good, man." The smile was forced, but he pushed it anyway. "You didn't give up, and we found you." He hoped that Sonny wasn't with it enough to notice the very obvious tremble in his words. "You and Clay, you're gonna be just fine." God, he hoped so. "Just hang in there a bit longer." _Please_.

Whether finally satisfied with Jason's answer, or simply passing out once more, Sonny's eyelids drifted closed - the blankness returning to his face, almost as if he'd never been conscious.

Hurriedly re-checking his brother's vitals, and reminding himself how to breathe, Jason fumbled with his comms. "Ray," he spoke quickly. "Pull him up."

Ray hurriedly obliged.

Pushing the gurney with one hand, Jason relayed to Trent what had just happened. Unfortunately, their medic couldn't offer much reassurance that Sonny waking was actually a good thing; just reminded him that time was against them, and they needed to get to the hospital, ASAP.

Sonny reached the ridge, and Jason helped to lift him up and over. As he straightened, he caught sight of Brock leaning over Clay – an IV now started, snaking out from the shining thermal blanket that had been tucked around the younger man.

Swallowing against the painful tightness of his throat, Jason called down to Brock, instructed that he switch out with Ray to give their 2IC's arms a rest. "Get a warm IV started on Sonny," Jason directed his number two. "Brock, you help me pull Trent when I give the okay."

Brock didn't reply, just pushed up quickly and grabbed hold of the rope that would be attached to Trent.

"Let's pick up the pace," Jason suggested stiffly, taking his end of the rope and heading as quickly as he could manage back down towards the opening.

It didn't take long to lift Trent, but with the clock ticking, it felt like an eternity. Once Bravo Four was at the crevice's rim, Jason reached forward and snagged a belt-loop, hauling his medic up and over the top, onto the snowy path.

Trent lay for a moment, panting.

Jason felt his anxiety swirl as he studied Trent's pale face.

But Trent shook him off. "I'm good," he stated, voice slightly raspy. "Let's go." Rolling onto his stomach, he emphasized his point by moving quickly up the slope, motioning for Jason to do the same.

Once at the top, Jason hopped over the ridge. His arms were jelly, and his heart felt like it was thundering in his chest. The distinct thump-thump of a chopper could be heard approaching, reminding them that they needed to hurry things along.

Brock helped Trent over, patted him on the back.

Trent stumbled, but caught himself. Hastily, he assessed both Clay and Sonny, giving a nod of approval as he double-checked their IV lines.

Jason helped Ray finish tucking a thermal blanket around Sonny, whilst Brock gathered their ropes.

"Let's move our asses," Jason ordered, snatching up an extra pack and clipping it to his belt. "Two men on each gurney." He moved to the base of Clay's, ensuring he'd be able to see his boy's face as they went.

Before he grabbed hold, he keyed his comms. "HAVOC, this is One. We're moving to the chopper."

Brock grabbed the front end of Clay's gurney, lifting it in sync with Jason.

Trent and Ray followed with Sonny.

Cerberus barked, as if confirming his whole pack were finally accounted for again.

"We've got you on ISR," came Davis' crackled reply. "Chopper is circling. You should have a visual."

Jason squinted up as the helo passed over, sunlight glinting off its rear. He didn't stop to reply, just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, not stumbling through the ankle-deep snow. He counted breaths, hating how Clay's limp body bounced lifelessly with the gurney's movements.

 _Hold on_ , he pleaded silently. _We're getting you out of here_.

It hadn't slipped his mind that the flight to Kabul was a solid hour.

_Just hang in there, a little longer …_

One hour felt like far too long, when each second was against them.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Davis drew a shuddering breath, raked a hand through her hair. Her swimming eyes tracked Bravo's movements as they raced to the chopper – bodies dark against the stark white of the snow.

The volume of emotions charging through her was overwhelming, and she wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to keep it together.

The bone-shattering worry for Sonny and Clay, coupled with lack of sleep and the revelations about Reiss – those things alone threatened to undo her. Add in the overwhelming shock and relief when Jason had reported that Sonny and Clay were, in fact, _still alive_ …

It was too much.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't sit here and pretend to be a robot without feeling - switch off and just get on with her job.

A firm hand landed on her shoulder, startling her out of the downward spiral.

Davis turned, shakily, to see Blackburn regarding her.

"Come on," he stated gently, his own expression a storm of emotions.

She stared blankly, not comprehending – too focused on trying not to shake under his touch, lest she give away the fact that she was so close to losing it.

His eyes softened. "Grab your stuff," he clarified, tilting his head towards the door. "We have a ride to catch."

Davis frowned, eyes flicking back to the black-and-white image on the screen. Bravo were loading Clay and Sonny into the chopper, that much she could make out.

"I've handed over command," Blackburn explained, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Let others deal with Al-Hazred. He's not our priority today."

Davis felt tears threaten. She hastily batted them away, lip trembling.

"Our guys need us." Blackburn squeezed her shoulder gently. "There's a car waiting for us at the gate." He inhaled jaggedly, eyes growing distant for a moment. "You and I are heading to Kabul."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

 _One hour_.

One hour that felt like forever.

Jason felt helpless, watching Trent go between Clay and Sonny, working in the tight space on the chopper's floor between their gurneys.

He made a mental note to tell Trent just how much he was appreciated, no matter how this all turned out. Sometimes, he took their medic's skills for granted. But the truth was, he'd lost count of the number of times Bravo Four had been the one holding it together - whilst the rest of them had struggled not to come apart.

He was numb, paralyzed, barely able to breathe. He desperately wanted to fast-forward the journey, get them to Kabul quicker. But of all the things left in Jason's control, time, unfortunately, wasn't one of them.

Brock sat, eyes glinting, clutching Cerb between his knees - his hands raking absently, almost desperately, through the dog's fur.

And Ray clasped his hands, head bowed in prayer, looking up every now and then as if to see whether his pleas had been answered.

One hour – one long, horrible hour.

Finally, the chopper touched down on the hospital roof.

Jason followed his brothers - spilling out its sides, and ducking under slowing rotors, as medical staff rushed to help them with their injured team mates. He stood back, still unable to breathe, watching powerlessly as Clay and Sonny were hurriedly transferred to new gurneys - oxygen masks fitted over their pale, blue-tinged faces, while Trent relayed stats.

There was dust on the roof, Jason found himself thinking – mind snagging on the useless fact, as if desperately searching for a reprieve from his rising distress. The chopper's rotors had kicked it up. _Dust on the fucking hospital roof, in the middle of fucking Kabul_.

Vaguely, he recalled Sonny complaining once, that the Afghani dust even managed to find its way into one's soul – among other frightening places – impossible to remove.

Ray's nudge against his arm snapped him back to the present, and Jason willed himself into motion.

Clay and Sonny were whisked away, through a double glass door, and into a long corridor - while the rest of Bravo trailed quickly behind.

There were shouts about the dog not being allowed inside, which Brock stubbornly chose to ignore. It caused one of the doctors to yell incoherently, flap her arms in exasperation.

Jason briefly wondered whether he would have to break up a fist fight, as he caught uncharacteristic anger flare behind Brock's dark eyes.

Cerberus' presence was forgotten, however, when Clay's heart suddenly decided to stop beating.

And Jason staggered, feeling like the floor fell out from beneath him.

They were ordered to find the waiting room, allow the doctors space to do their job. Jason felt panic shoot through him, watching helplessly as his boy was rushed away and out of sight - doctors frantically leaning over him, and Sonny's gurney following closely behind.

Five sets of wide eyes sought each other, as if hoping for a comfort that just wasn't there. A few medical staff rushed past, ignoring them – although a wary glance or two was spared for the dog.

The lights of the corridor were too bright, the sounds and smell of the hospital too loud and strong. Jason wanted to block it out. He cast another desperate look at the door the gurneys had disappeared behind.

Every part of his being wanted to charge through and find his brothers; find Clay and beg him not to go, beg him to keep fighting. Because, God-fucking-damn-it, he absolutely _could not lose the kid_.

A grunt from beside him stole his attention.

Trent suddenly staggered, reaching for the nearest wall.

"Trent?" Brock questioned, voice rising with worry and pulling their minds back to their immediate surrounds.

Concern sparked through Jason, and his hand shot out to grab his medic's sleeve.

But it was moment too late, and his fingers found air instead of the fabric he'd been aiming for.

Trent's knees buckled, his eyes rolled back. Ungracefully, he crumpled - hitting the deck with Jason's hand still uselessly outstretched towards him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kind comments! Apologies for any mistakes or medical inconsistencies. And thanks for reading, if you've got this far! :) Stay well x

The hospital waiting room was basic, at best. Not that Jason had expected much more. They were in the middle of a war-torn country, after all. Simple, mismatched plastic chairs, a window for the triage nurse; this was a military hospital, set up primarily to treat wounded Afghan soldiers. It paled in comparison to the facilities back home, yet it was the best-equipped medical facility for miles.

In all Jason's years deploying to this God-forsaken country, he'd never been here. Team mates' injuries had always been mild enough to be treated on base – or bad enough that not even the best hospital in the world could help.

He paced, mind spinning like a crashing helo. This building had been attacked only a handful of years ago, resulting in nearly one hundred dead. The medical staff were a mixture of Afghan and foreign, and very little English was spoken. Three incapacitated US Navy SEALS within its walls was risky, and Jason hated the fact that he was relying on this place to help his brothers. But, it was the best they had.

He rebounded back and forth from the triage window. Gaining a status update on his men was impossible. On his fifth attempt, he was about ready to break the thick Perspex that separated himself from the nurse, grab the woman and haul her across the desk. Thankfully, Ray intervened, gripping his jacket and firmly steering him into a corner.

Jason turned, slumping against the wall and raking a hand through his hair. His whole body vibrated with stress, knuckles burning with the urge to break something as a way of release.

Ray just held his shoulder firm, steadying him.

Jason's gaze settled on Brock across the room; hunched over in one of the plastic chairs, arms around Cerb, face ashen.

He drew a very shaky breath, swallowed jaggedly. Let his eyes slip closed for a moment.

He was good. He wasn't about to go postal. He had two men left out of five, and they were both relying on him to keep his shit together. Now was time for Bravo One, for clear thinking and a three-foot world; not Jason Hayes, the broken man who'd lost too much.

Reversing away from Ray's grip, he paced a few more steps, spun and planted his hands on his hips. It had been nearly one hour since Clay's heart had stopped beating, and Trent had collapsed in the corridor. One hour was long enough for someone, _anyone_ , to come and tell him what the hell was going on. But, so far, no one had come. Was no news good news? Who the fuck knew.

"Let me try," Ray offered quietly. His eyes skipped across the room towards Bravo Five, and he dipped his head at their second-youngest man. "Go, sit with him for a while."

Jason heard the unspoken worry for their quietest team mate. He glanced across, noting the way Brock clung to his dog like a life raft. He and Bravo Five were unravelling in different ways; him obviously, Brock silently. Ray rarely unraveled, which was equal parts infuriating and undeniably advantageous.

Jason nodded, desperately trying to keep his wandering mind in the present. Ray's Arabic was sound, and Bravo Two was generally much more pleasant to deal with than he was in situations like this.

Swallowing back swirling frustration and worry, Jason pushed himself across the room in Brock's direction.

Plopping into the plastic chair beside the dark-haired man, Cerb nudged his knee. Gaze pinned on Ray, Jason leaned forward, wringing his hands as he let them dangle between his knees.

Brock didn't say anything. And there really wasn't anything Jason could offer to make things better. His ears tuned in to Ray as his 2IC quietly – and perhaps a little apologetically – spoke with the nurse.

Brock broke the silence. "You think they're okay?" His voice was impossibly small, probing for an answer that none of them could give.

Jason felt his throat constrict, his already tight chest grow even tighter. Blowing out a very unsteady breath, he reached out a shaky hand and squeezed Brock's nearest shoulder.

He didn't know. The care of his men was completely out of his hands, out of his control, and that was half the problem right now. He let his hand fall, began absently raking fingers through Cerb's soft fur.

Ray wandered back over, regretfully shook his head.

That was it. Jason felt the small amount of calm he'd clawed back instantly dissolve. He'd had enough. Pushing up from his chair, he resolved to hunt down his men by whatever means necessary.

Luckily for the hospital's staff, and anyone else who would have got in his way, the door to the waiting room pushed open and Blackburn and Davis entered.

Jason's steps faltered, half-way to the triage desk with Ray unsuccessfully yelling after him.

"Jason," Blackburn said by way of greeting, eyes flicking between the three remaining members of Bravo. "Any news?"

Jason froze, suddenly backtracking on his plan to lose his shit. In the terrible lighting, their commander's features appeared even more shadowed, like he'd missed much more than just one night's sleep. Shifting irritably, he cast a look back towards the nurse's window. "Can't get a fucking update on any of them," he grit. "About ready to kick in some doors."

Ray slid a sideways look at their commander; a silent warning that Jason wasn't joking, and perhaps also a little bit of relief at Blackburn's timely appearance.

Blackburn frowned, nodded tightly, his expression troubled.

Davis slid down into a seat beside Brock. Her shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. Running a hand over Cerb's head, she smoothed down his ears, before drawing Bravo Five into a gentle, sideways hug.

Brock fell gratefully against her, dropping his head to her shoulder.

There was a commotion from the other side of the double doors that stood next to the nurse's window, and Jason's ears pricked as he registered a familiar voice.

All eyes turned towards the doors as they swung open, and Trent stumbled through.

Bravo Four was swaying, grabbing at the walls for balance, ranting that he would discharge himself.

Jason felt both relief and exasperation at the sight.

Trent's bleary gaze swung around, finding their familiar faces. He stumbled in their general direction, veering slightly off course and nearly colliding with some chairs.

A nurse called after him, scolding him in heavily accented, broken English.

Brock quickly pushed up from his seat, Cerb whining at his heels. Hurriedly, he grabbed his obviously drugged-up brother's elbow, steering him safely back towards Davis. Gently, he lowered Trent into a chair.

Blackburn raked a palm over his face, blew out a breath and eyed Jason. "You just deal with Trent," he suggested tiredly. "I'll get answers on Clay and Sonny." He didn't wait for Jason's agreement, jogging after the flustered nurse who'd accompanied Trent, as she ducked back beyond the double doors.

Jason flicked his narrowed gaze towards their stubborn-ass medic.

Trent sagged in his seat, eyes more than a little glazed – a look of barely-held-together determination plastered across his still too pale face.

Despite how much Jason wanted to follow Blackburn, he pushed himself towards the bank of chairs instead. He stood, regarding his number four - trying for stern, but falling noticeably short.

He wanted to scold Trent for being vertical, he really did. But he was too God-damned spent, and, quite frankly, he understood the drive behind Trent's need to break out and be with the rest of them. "You okay?" he asked simply, letting a very small amount of exasperation linger in his tone.

Trent did his best to pin Jason with a level stare - but his gaze swam, eyelids heavy. "They wouldn't tell me what was going on with Clay and Sonny," he muttered, frustration heavy. "I couldn't just sit there ..."

Jason felt his jaw tense. He shared Trent's frustration.

The triage nurse called to them.

Ray pushed up and hurried over to the window before Jason had a chance.

Jason's attention remained on Trent, for now. "You gonna fall over again?" It was a valid question.

Trent rolled his eyes – or at least, he gave it his best shot. "It's just a fractured rib. I'm good."

 _Just a fractured rib_. Jason nearly snorted, seeing through it to the barely concealed fatigue; the pain, battling it out with the desperate urge to push on. Trent would drive himself into the ground when a team mate was down, despite the cost to himself. God, the man could be insufferable sometimes. Under normal circumstances, Jason would have hurled a lecture at him. But, today wasn't a normal day, and too large a part of him understood and related to where Trent's head was at.

Ray returned, holding a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. Looking just about as reluctant as Jason, he handed it to Trent. "Discharge papers," he explained, as Trent accepted the clipboard with a shaky hand. "Against medical advice," he added under his breath, with a glance to Jason.

"You should be laying down, man," Brock tried.

But Trent ignored him. It took a moment, but he finally lined up the pen with the correct box - wobbling some version of his signature, before passing the clipboard back to Ray.

Davis breathed a heavy sigh, shook her head. "You're all as ridiculous as each other, you know that." There was no heat to the accusation. Her damp eyes met Jason's, before re-settling on the double doors Blackburn had disappeared behind.

Jason folded his arms across his chest, hugging himself as if the action could keep him from coming apart. Looking at the others, slumped in various positions along the row of plastic chairs, he felt that perhaps this was about as broken as his team had ever been. Heart thumping hard, he counted the beats vibrating into his arms, trying to ground himself in their rhythm.

Tense silence settled around them. Minutes gathered, as they waited for Blackburn to return.

Jason paced, unable to stay still. Somehow, sitting felt too much like dropping his guard – as if his focus slipping might somehow influence Clay's or Sonny's outcomes. Distantly, he realized that it was just another way he was trying to control an out-of-control situation.

Opting to ignore rational thought, he carried on with his anxious movement.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the door pushed open and Blackburn reappeared.

They all immediately tensed.

In the heartbeat before their CO began talking, Jason found himself scanning the other man's features, desperately trying to get a read on the situation – as if that could potentially soften the blow.

The others pulled themselves straighter in their seats, each seeming to mirror Jason's response.

Blackburn didn't leave them hanging. "They're okay," he hastily reassured.

The immediate release of tension was palpable, and Jason felt himself rock unsteadily under the wash of emotion that flooded through him.

Blackburn scrubbed a hand over his eyes, looking more wrecked than ever. "They have a good doctor, and she'll be out as soon as she can to update us further." He shot a glance back towards the doors. "The hospital is desperately understaffed. They're doing the best they can, with what they have."

That's what Jason was worried about. "How soon before we can get them transferred back to base?"

Blackburn sighed. "Once they're cleared to leave." His expression betrayed that he was as reluctant to have their guys here as the rest of them. "Clay was touch and go, but he fought, and they were able to stabilize him reasonably quickly."

Damn straight Clay was a fighter. Jason felt a flare of pride, alongside immense gratitude, in the wake of that information.

"How's their temperature?" Trent pushed. "What's being done to bring that up?"

Blackburn raised a reassuring hand, as if to say he'd been getting to that. "They're both being treated with warmed, humidified oxygen, as well as warmed saline. Thankfully, that's been enough to bring their temperatures up. But they're not out of the woods yet. The next few hours are critical."

Jason chewed at his lip, feeling hope spark within him for the first time since they'd lost Clay and Sonny. But it was cautious hope. His life's experience had taught him that, in situations like this, it never paid to get too far ahead because there was still a whole hell of a lot that could go wrong.

"What about Sonny's ankle?" Trent pressed, his mind still very much in medic-mode. "Have they x-rayed it? And Clay's shoulder?"

No one missed the way Trent swayed as he talked, eyelids bobbing heavily. Jason had no idea what drugs his number four had been given, but it was obvious he was putting up a valiant fight against the effects of something.

"X-rays confirmed Sonny's ankle is broken," Blackburn answered, sighing at Trent's questionable steadiness. "But thankfully it's a clean break, and at a glance, the doctor said she thinks it should heal without surgery."

Jason felt another small amount of tension leave him. Broken bones were always a worry, as the wrong sort of break could end a career. It had crossed his mind as soon as Trent had diagnosed it - though he'd deliberately tried not to dwell on it, figuring they'd had more pressing issues at the time.

"Clay's shoulder is badly bruised," Blackburn continued. "Looks like some ligament damage, but no fractures." He swallowed roughly. "Doc said it appeared to have been dislocated, and either Clay or Sonny managed to pop it back in."

Jason winced internally. Reducing dislocated shoulders wasn't a foreign concept to any of them, and normally not an overly complicated procedure, but his stomach still knotted at the thought of either man trying to treat such an injury under such dire circumstances.

"They've both got concussions," Blackburn carried on, before Trent could ask. "Sonny's mild, Clay's moderate. Thankfully no evidence of skull fractures."

Another morsel of weight lifted from all of them.

"When can we see them?" The question had been perched on the edge of Jason's lips, and it suddenly spilled over, drawing immediate, murmured agreement from the others.

Blackburn nodded, understanding their impatience. "Their doctor said she'll been out as soon as she can," he reassured.

"Did you see them?" Brock's voice was still horribly quiet, and his hands still carded through Cerb's fur, as if hesitant to let go of his portion of their gnawing worry.

Blackburn's features softened marginally, a ripple of something horribly close to sadness traveling briefly over his face. He gave a half-nod.

It did nothing to settle Jason's anxiety. He could imagine how bad they'd looked – he'd seen both Clay and Sonny, hovering frighteningly close to death on the chopper floor. He couldn't imagine that their pallor or the unsettling blankness of their expressions had changed much over the past couple of hours.

With a rattled sigh, Blackburn pulled himself straighter. His eyes skipped between them all, eventually landing on Jason. "I'm going to take a walk. I have some calls to make." He massaged the back of his neck tiredly. "Doc said there's a coffee vending machine in the staff kitchen on the ground floor, said we're welcome to it."

At the mention of coffee, Davis pushed to her feet, offering to come and help carry them – seeming happy to have a task to complete, instead of sitting idle in the near-empty waiting room.

Blackburn nodded at her. "We wont be long," he reassured the rest of them, before heading out.

Jason chewed his lip, watched them leave. Scuffing the floor with the tip of his boot, he resisted the urge to resume pacing.

Clay and Sonny would be okay. Clay's heart was beating, and Sonny's broken ankle shouldn't stop him from operating again. Their insides weren't frozen solid – though, God, they'd come horribly close - and both men were being cared for by a doctor that Blackburn had approved of.

So, why wasn't that enough?

"Jase," Ray said, picking up on his best friend's still raging anxiety. "Why don't you sit for a bit."

Jason raked a hand through his hair, scrubbed it over his face and stubble. Regarding his ragged-looking team mates, he blew out a long, shaky breath.

Cerb pulled forward, nudged his knee as if to say; _Stop being an idiot. Sit down before you fall down_.

After another moment of fighting it, Jason reluctantly gave in to his tired, aching legs. He shuffled forward, ignoring Cerb's look of approval, and plopped down between Ray and Trent.

The five of them sat, silently waiting - each of them keeping their eyes firmly locked on the double doors, desperate for the doctor to appear.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Blackburn and Davis returned fifteen minutes later, bearing cups of dark liquid that smelled like coffee, but tasted more like bitter, muddy water. Somehow, it was grainy, like the Afghan dust and sand had made its way in there as well. Jason forced himself to swallow it down, hopeful that the caffeine would put at least a small dent in his fatigue.

They were going on thirty hours without sleep, and though they'd worked through longer ops, the emotional weight of this one made it feel as though they hadn't slept for days.

Blackburn took a seat beside Ray, leaned forward and signaled for Jason to do the same. "I've just received word that Charlie successfully took down Al-Hazred," he said, keeping his voice low so that it stayed between them. "Brought him in alive."

Jason huffed. He should feel something, but he just couldn't right now. Al-Hazred, and all the world's problems, could go jump for all he cared.

"Reiss has been formally charged," their commander continued.

Jason felt a spark of dark satisfaction at that. What had happened to Clay and Sonny hadn't been an accident, and it felt good to direct the anger and blame at someone. Not that it helped him hurt any less - he'd learnt long ago that pain and grief weren't that easy to get rid of. Still, he felt grateful to Mandy for getting them that small piece of justice, despite how empty it felt.

"And we're going home," Blackburn stated, raising his voice slightly. "Once Clay and Sonny are cleared to fly."

That got everyone's attention.

Jason nearly choked on the sip of coffee he'd been navigating. Pinning Blackburn with a look, he raised a questioning brow.

"Given the circumstances," Blackburn explained, "Bravo's remaining deployment time has been transferred. The final couple of weeks will be completed back at home base. Full Metal is staying on, and the rest of Alpha will be here tomorrow."

Jason processed the information.

Ray was the one who spoke up. "Seems like an awfully generous move," he muttered, uncharacteristic skepticism lining his tone.

Blackburn pursed his lips. "Well," he said, "it seems the Brass have recognized that Bravo played a pivotal role in locating Al-Hazred." His gaze traveled towards the double doors, and he tilted his head in that direction. "If it wasn't for Clay climbing up that tunnel shaft, we would never have got a lock on the courier's location, and our target would have been in the wind." A twitch of a smile flickered across his lips, a hint of pride. "Seems our boy's quick thinking has earned us a favor from above."

Jason couldn't help returning the tight smile. Clay was an exceptional operator, on so many levels. He felt so proud of how far the kid had come over the past three years – learning to function not just as part of their team but as part of their _brotherhood_ ; trusting and working alongside them, as opposed to hiding behind his fragile ego and constantly feeling like he had to prove his worth.

He swallowed, throat suddenly tight. Knowing that they would lose Clay to a new group of people – people who wouldn't know him as they did, wouldn't necessarily have his best interests in mind, _strangers who wouldn't have his back_ \- that's what scared him.

Hurriedly, Jason backed away from the thoughts. Now wasn't the time to head down that uncomfortable rabbit hole. Clay was alive, that was all that mattered. And, at the end of the day, he would rather lose the kid to STA-21, than the depths of a frozen ravine. He would take the incredibly fortunate hand of cards they'd been dealt, and shut the fuck up.

"I suppose we can't look a gift horse in the mouth," he admitted, glancing between Ray and Blackburn, and then casting a look the other way to Trent, Brock and Davis.

Going home would do them all good, he couldn't deny.

The double doors swung open, and a doctor emerged. She was tall, with sharp features, incredibly dark eyes, and midnight hair pulled into a tight bun.

Blackburn pushed upright in recognition, and Jason found himself automatically following, his mind sharpening.

"Doctor Asmaan," the commander greeted.

She bobbed her head, gaze traveling over the others. There was a tiredness lingering around her eyes that went deeper than just a missed night of sleep. "Your men are stable," she reported, words accented but clear. "You'll be able to see them shortly. Though I must stress, only two visitors allowed at a time."

A collective sigh of relief traveled through them all. Cerb's tail thumped happily against the floor.

"They are still unconscious," the doctor continued – eyes lingering on the dog, though she bit back any comments relating to his presence. "I understand you are eager to transfer them back to your base, but I cannot in good conscience authorize that before morning."

Blackburn cut in, before any of them could argue. "Understood. We greatly appreciate all you and your team have done for them."

Jason shifted, heartbeat thumping through his tightly crossed arms once again. "If they're staying the night," he directed his words at the doctor, "then I'd prefer it if one of us remains with them."

She held his gaze, and Jason prepared to argue his case.

But she just sighed, nodded. "I assumed that would be the case." A ripple of emotion passed over her features. "You team guys are all the same."

Jason raised a brow. The doctor had obviously seen her fair share of operators.

"You're all loyal, to a fault," she muttered, shaking her head. Her gaze caught on Trent, and she eyed him, disapprovingly. "We may be permanently short on staff, but we do have a spare bed." She narrowed her gaze at him. "I would highly recommend you make use of it, Mister Sawyer. It's in the same room as your team mates."

Jason allowed himself a splinter of amusement at Trent's expense, as he watched his stubborn medic try, but fail, to come up with an argument against that suggestion. Glancing around at his brothers, he decided to make the executive decision on how they would do this.

"Davis, Brock," he said. "You're up first."

"Dog stays here," Doctor Asmaan warned.

Cerb whined, and Brock muttered an apology to his furry brother – reassuring him that he would let Clay and Sonny know he was waiting for them, would see them soon.

Jason's eyes flicked to Ray. "You and Blackburn go in second," he suggested, before nodding at Trent. "We'll go last. You will lay your ass down," he told his number four. "I'll take first watch over our boys."

No one argued with Jason's reasoning. Perhaps they were all too tired, or perhaps they understood how much Jason needed it - needed to sit with his men for a while and reassure himself that he hadn't lost them.

Davis and Brock got to their feet, each pulling in a deep, shaky breath. Davis flicked a damp-eyed look at Blackburn, before reaching for Brock's elbow, as if attempting to ground them both. Pushing each other along, they followed the doctor towards the doors.

Jason didn't bother returning to his seat. He counted every minute between Davis and Brock going in, right up until it was his and Trent's turn. Though, when his turn finally came, he felt new anxiety spike through him, making his arms and legs wobbly. He suddenly felt torn between the urge to see Clay and Sonny, and the confusing desire to keep his feet firmly in place. It was disorienting, and he put it down to the fact that he was desperately tired, emotionally wrecked.

Davis, Brock and Ray hadn't said much since they'd returned to the waiting room – although Davis' cheeks were blotchy, eyes red, and Brock clung harder to Cerberus, if that was even possible. Ray's expression carried a haunted look, accurately reflective of their ordeal. Somehow, the three of them appeared more exhausted than they had before they'd gone in.

With a last glance at the others, Jason helped Trent to his feet. Unsteadily, they followed the doctor through the doors that had been beckoning them for the past couple of hours.

The corridor was long, stark, and echoey. There was a distinct lack of bustle, betraying the shortage of staff as well as the limited number of patients. Doctor Asmaan led on, without so much as a backwards glance. Jason walked close to Trent, ready to catch him if need be – though the medic seemed determined to move himself forward completely under his own steam.

Once they reached the door to Clay and Sonny's room, Trent rushed in, but Jason found himself hesitating in the doorway. Heart pounding, he took a moment to take in the sight of his men.

His brothers were laid out upon metal-framed beds, a nurse finishing vitals checks. They had matching IV's, vapour-lined oxygen masks over their faces, and their pallor was still far from perfect - but they looked less like corpses, which helped Jason eventually step over the threshold.

Sonny's ankle was splinted, propped on a pillow, sticking out from under layered blankets.

The gash above Clay's brow was covered – his face nearly as white as the strip of tape.

Jason swallowed roughly, throat working. His gaze traveled between the two of them, backwards and forwards, as if reassuring himself that they were actually here, _alive_. Slowly, he approached Clay's bed.

At least there was no more ice in his boy's hair. The younger man's chest rose and fell, gently moving the sheets, and the rhythmic, steady beep of his heartrate monitor made Jason want to sob with relief.

Trent fired a bunch of questions at the doctor, but Jason tuned most of it out. He lowered himself into the plastic chair stationed between the two beds, eyes still traveling from one brother to the next.

Reaching out a hand, he gently squeezed Sonny's closest arm. Then he turned his attention back to Clay, finding the kid's limp hand and taking it carefully in his. Clay's palm wasn't warm, but it wasn't stiff and freezing, which was a vast improvement.

Doctor Asmaan stepped around the base of Sonny's bed, scribbling a note on the Texan's chart. "Your men are lucky," she commented sincerely.

Jason tightened his grip on Clay's hand. "They're strong," he corrected.

She regarded him steadily, replacing the chart, before offering a correction of her own with a whisper of a tired smile. "We're only ever as strong as those who hold us up."

Jason considered her statement, appreciating the truth behind it. There was heavy wisdom lining her words that came from years of living in a place like this. Jason recognized it, related to it in his own way.

Scrubbing his free hand over gritty, tired eyes, he glanced across at Trent.

His number four was busy skimming charts, rechecking vitals. Jason had so much appreciation for their medic, but right now, the man needed to get himself horizontal.

"Trent," he started, tone beyond weary.

Trent carried on with his assessment, a world away.

Jason sighed, tried again. " _Trent_."

This time Trent glanced up.

"Get your ass in that bed," Jason stated, gesturing vaguely towards the vacant bed on Sonny's other side.

Trent went to argue, but Jason cut him off. "I'm not asking." He held the medic's unfocused gaze, jabbed a finger in the bed's direction. "I'm pulling rank. It's an order. Stand down. Sleep. I don't have the energy to scrape your obstinate ass off the floor when you inevitably fall down."

Doctor Asmaan shook her head, glancing between the two conscious men. "Come on," she offered, stepping towards Trent and guiding him towards the bed with surprising gentleness.

Trent shot an unhappy look at Jason, but wisely decided not to argue further – perhaps realizing he was outnumbered. Giving in, he allowed himself to be helped onto the bed.

Jason tilted his head back against the wall, feeling his eyes grow impossibly heavy and his body sag further into the plastic chair, drawn down by an invisible force.

He would swap out with Ray in one hour. For now, he would simply savor the feeling of Clay's hand in his, count breaths, and attempt to claw back the part of himself he'd come so horribly close to losing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, nearly there. One more chapter and a short epilogue to go :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hats off to you if you've got this far :) I'm surprised I've even got this far to be honest! Lol  
> One last bit to go after this chapter.

Clay and Sonny were cleared to leave Kabul the next morning. They were transferred back to base, where they were monitored for another day before Bravo were given the green light to fly home.

Clay had a low-grade infection, suspected from the rock shards that had sat in his pelvis for nearly a day. The shards had been successfully removed, and he was on some strong antibiotics which kept his fever manageable - though Trent insisted on checking his temperature every hour, just to be sure.

Strange, to have a fever after hypothermia, Jason thought. The human body truly was a wondrous, terrifying thing.

Clay and Sonny slept a lot, in those first couple of days after their rescue. Not that anyone expected otherwise. Between their concussions, broken and bruised bones, and general exhaustion from their ordeal, painkillers were enough to sedate both men for the long flight home.

Jason sat, a few feet away from Clay's gurney, on a bench seat in the cold interior of the C-17. Engines rumbling around him, vibrating through his back as he leaned against the netting, he watched the gentle rise and fall of Clay's chest as the kid slept.

Further along, Sonny lay strapped to another gurney, with Davis and Brock seated close by. Cerberus' crate was within sight, and every now and then, Jason caught a glimpse of his furry brother doing his bit to keep an eye on their injured team mates.

Trent came and went, checking both men – ignoring Brock's pleas to sit down and sleep.

And Ray and Blackburn slouched, further down the bench, each trying to get some rest.

Jason leaned his head back against the netting, took a moment to allow his eyes to slip closed. He felt someone sit down beside him, a shoulder gently bump against his arm.

"Can't sleep?"

Jason cracked open his eyes, half-turned to see Mandy eyeing him. He blew out a breath, gaze falling back on Clay. "No," he replied, voice quiet. "Just taking it in."

Clay's face was still with sleep. There was color in his cheeks again, though the purple around his eyes remained. He looked more alive than dead.

"Just appreciating the fact that my misfit family is still whole," Jason admitted, lip twitching into a somewhat-smile.

Mandy's expression grew thoughtful, her gaze dancing down the line, over their various team mates.

It went without saying that it had been too damned close this time.

"Some way for Clay to end his time with Bravo," she said, tilting her head towards the younger man.

Jason felt sadness settle within him. He'd been deliberately not thinking about that, but he supposed he couldn't hide from it forever. Clay leaving was something that would happen, whether he liked it or not.

"You'll miss him, when he goes." There was almost the hint of a challenge in Mandy's tone.

Jason huffed.

Yeah … He would.

She regarded him, in the way she did when silently placing pieces together, joining dots. "The father in you doesn't want him to go." The statement left a hint of a smile upon her lips. "But, it's also the father in you that will support him, no matter what."

Jason huffed again. He didn't argue with her observation – nor did he deny.

She raised a brow, as if knowing she'd hit the nail on the head.

Casting a glance towards Davis, Jason decided to change the subject. Throwing a subtle nod in that direction, he whispered, "You think there's anything going on, between Davis and Sonny?"

Mandy's expression was as unreadable as ever. She shrugged.

Jason pinned her with a look, considering. "You wouldn't tell me, even if you did suspect something."

She leaned back against the netting, breaking eye contact. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A beat of silence passed between them.

Eventually, Mandy straightened. Leaning forward, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, flicked hazel eyes to Jason. "And?" she said quietly. "What about us?"

Jason rolled his head slightly to the side, regarding her. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "I haven't worked that out yet."

She gave a soft smile. "Do we need to work it out?"

Jason pushed upright, joined her in leaning forward.

No, he guessed not.

"I'm tired of trying to figure out every step, plan for every possible scenario," Mandy admitted, tone uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Can we just agree to, I don't know … Wing it?"

Jason couldn't help but return the gentle smile. Finding her hand, he laced his fingers through hers, gave it a light squeeze. He was damned tired of that, as well. "We'll take the road as it comes," he agreed.

They would meet each other, wherever they both currently sat in the cluster-fuck of life – just a little bit broken, a little bit lost.

Somehow, Jason realized, it felt comfortable. Familiar.

And in a round-about way, that meant that it was probably right.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

**Two Days Later …**

The door to Clay's room was halfway open, and Jason rapped knuckles lightly against it as he entered.

Clay was propped part-way upright in the bed, staring absently out the window. He was still hooked up to an IV for antibiotics, but he looked much more like _himself_ \- a healthy pink tinge to his cheeks, eyes less sunken.

At the sound of Jason's knock, Clay pulled his gaze from the window, gave a tired smile.

"Morning, sunshine." Jason returned the smile, entering the room.

The younger man shifted, readjusting himself against the pillows. His movements were sluggish, but he was conscious, eating, drinking, and talking. It was more than Jason had dared to hope, less than a week ago.

After landing back in Virginia Beach, Clay and Sonny had been transferred to the local military hospital. They were both doing exceptionally well, given all they'd been through, and Jason and the others had popped in and out over the past couple of days, checking in on them.

The two men were in separate rooms - although apparently one of the first things Sonny had demanded was a wheelchair so that he could see Clay. Jason still had to pinch himself, knowing that his number three and six had come home breathing, instead of in boxes.

Letting his eyes catch on the sunlight filtering in through the semi-transparent fabric of the curtains, Jason scratched at his stubble, leaned forward with an elbow propped on the bedside table. There was another table across the room, displaying a few cheerful flower arrangements, plus a teddy bear apparently from Davis. He cleared his throat. "I haven't seen Rebecca yet. She been by?"

Clay pulled an unsteady sigh, gave a light shake of his head against the pillow. "No," he replied, voice still croaky, not quite working properly. "I asked her not to."

Jason frowned, trying to read the emotion behind Clay's drugged-up tone.

Clay supplied the answer before he could work it out. "I broke it off with her."

Jason felt suddenly guilty for having asked. He went to apologize, but Clay waved a heavy hand, dismissively.

"Long time coming," the younger man explained wearily.

Jason didn't probe, sensing that Clay didn't want to get into it. Perhaps another day. He resorted to simply asking, "You okay?" He hadn't particularly liked Rebecca, but he would never have told Clay to leave her.

Clay blinked heavily, nodded.

Jason reached a hand under the metal bedrail, found Clay's wrist and gave it a gentle pat. He let his hand linger there a moment, steeling himself for what he wanted to say next.

Apologies never came easy, but this one was more than necessary. He'd waited until now, because he needed to know that Clay was alert enough to hear it.

Swallowing roughly, he withdrew his hand. "Hey, uh, there's something I wanted to … uh …" Jason's words tangled. He shook his head, as if the action could rattle them in order. Oh hell, he needed more practice at navigating moments like this. "I just wanted to say," he tried again, pulling himself together, "that I'm sorry."

Regarding Clay levelly, he made sure the kid not only heard his sincerity, but saw it, too.

"I'm sorry I treated you the way I did," he continued, feeling the corners of his mouth tug downwards as he recalled his less-than-ideal behavior. "When you told me that you'd accepted Lindell's offer, I should have been a whole hell of a lot more supportive of you." He shook his head, freshly frustrated at himself. "Instead, I reacted poorly, and I sent you off to COP-Redding. Said some hurtful things." Words that had stung extra hard, whilst Clay had been missing.

Clay opened his mouth, went to talk.

But Jason cut him off. "No," he said, quickly, "let me finish." He'd been a class-A idiot, and he needed to at least try to fix his mistake. Especially because, for a while there, he'd been sure it was an un-fixable regret he would end up taking to his grave.

Raking a hand over his hair and leaning harder into his elbow that balanced on the side table, Jason continued. "You know, when Emma told me that she wanted to pursue a career in singing, I reacted badly." And hadn't that gone down well. "Instead of being supportive and encouraging, I was selfish. All I thought about were _my_ hopes for her, how disappointed I was that she wasn't following the path _I_ had pictured."

Clay's gaze flitted away towards the window, and he rubbed at the sheet with his IV-free hand.

Jason sighed. "I was a crappy father, because I let my own interests get in the way of supporting my daughter." He let his elbow drop to his side, pulled himself straighter in his seat. "I realized my mistake, but not until after the damage was done."

Clay's gaze wandered back.

God, he looked so damn young.

"You think I would have learnt my lesson that first time," Jason muttered, feeling old regret clench his gut. "And yet, I did exactly the same thing to you."

Clay processed the words, blinking tiredly. He gave another small shake of his head against the pillows. "You don't owe me an apology," he said eventually, voice small. "Your reaction was fair."

Jason disagreed. "No, it wasn't. I didn't support you. I should have. Like I said, I should have learnt from my mistake with Emma."

Clay's eyes softened. He pinned Jason with a slightly glazed look, quirked a lip. "Are you … comparing me with your teenage daughter?"

Jason raised a brow. What? He huffed, returned the splinter of amusement. "Yeah," he replied. "That's exactly what I'm doing." There were further comments he could have made on that, but he decided to leave it alone, for now. Steering the conversation back on course, he resettled his gaze on Clay, locked on blue eyes. "I mean it," he reiterated. "I reacted badly. I regret it. And I'm damned sorry."

Clay pushed a tight smile. He didn't reject the apology, but he didn't exactly accept it, either. "I'm the one who should be saying sorry," he sighed, the lightness dissolving from his tone. His gaze moved away from Jason's, found a spot on the sheet to focus on instead. "What I said, about the things I learnt while I was at COP-Redding … I wasn't entirely honest with you."

Jason shifted, listening.

"I …" Clay paused, seeming to search for words. "I told you they were lessons I'd take with me, to STA-21."

Jason chewed at his lip. He remembered their conversation by the fire, the night Clay had returned from his stint at the outpost. It was one of the last one-on-one conversations they'd shared, up until now.

"I lied," Clay admitted, blue eyes catching Jason's once more. "Before you sent me to that outpost, I was already having second thoughts about leaving Bravo."

Jason tried to keep his surprise from showing, folding his arms over his chest and settling further down into the chair to disguise it.

Clay's eyelids were heavy, his voice dropping away here and there through his sentences. "I realized that I actually don't want to pursue a new career." He shook his head. "I don't want, or need, a bigger stage."

Jason had hoped Clay would change his mind, and yet, hearing it now, he felt guilty for wanting the kid to stick around. Clay had hopes, dreams, ambitions. Not all of them could be achieved within the constraints of operating in the field.

Before Jason could fire off a question, ask if Clay was sure, the younger man carried on. "I realized what it takes to be a leader," he continued. "I realized the sacrifices you make, the weight of the decisions and responsibility. You make a practical difference, to your men, every time you head out. You're the glue that keeps the team together, and there's a lot of honor in that." He swallowed jaggedly, glazed eyes just a little too bright. "I look up to you." He said tightly. "And more than that, you've shown me what it's like to have, well, I guess … a father-figure in my life." His voice trailed off at the end.

Jason felt his throat grow tight, picking up on the rawness and honestly behind the admission. He had a lot he wanted to say, but he couldn't quite find his words – it all felt too little, and too much at the same time. He drew a long breath, let a soft smile settle. "You kind of ambushed my apology," he said, lifting a brow.

Clay huffed, returned the smile.

Jason leaned forward, hanging his wrists over the bedrail. "You know, I'm not good with Hallmark moments. I wont tell you that you're making a mistake passing up STA-21, because God knows I'm desperate to keep you. If you've thought it through, then that's good enough for me."

Clay's cheeks gained a small amount more color.

"I'll support you, in whatever you decide," Jason finished. He reached out a hand, gave Clay's nearest arm a reassuring squeeze.

Clay nodded, trying to hide the volume of emotion passing through him.

A moment settled between them – it was quiet, but not uncomfortable.

Jason broke it, cleared his throat. "You told Lindell yet?"

Clay shook his head. "Wanted to talk to you first," he said, with a sideways look. He let his head tilt back against the pillows, reached his IV-free hand up and rubbed at his eyes. "I'll wait until I'm out of here. I need to talk to him about something else, as well."

Jason picked up on the wary undertone.

Clay filled in, before he could ask, pinning Jason with an unwavering look. "I didn't write that letter, Jase."

Jason shifted, noting Clay's sudden tension, the way the kid curled the sheet into his palm. "Okay," he said quickly, with a firm nod. "We've got your back on that, okay?"

Clay nodded, though he didn't relax.

"Just, park it for now, okay?" Jason suggested, placing his hand over Clay's.

Clay eventually released the sheet, silently agreeing to back away from the topic, for the time being.

Jason withdrew his hand. Gave a light smile.

The younger man's eyelids were sagging. The conversation had obviously left him tired. He regarded Jason tiredly. "Thank you," he said quietly, voice raw. "For coming back for us."

Jason felt his gut clench. "There's no universe in which we would have left you guys on that mountain," he stated. "You know that, right?"

Clay swallowed thickly, bobbed his head.

"Good." Jason's tone was firm. "Don't ever forget that," he added. He pinned Clay with a look, until he was sure he'd been understood.

Clay sunk further into his pillows, eyes now half-mast.

Jason leaned back into his chair, folding arms across his chest. "Get some rest," he suggested gently, noticing Clay fighting to keep his eyes open. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Clay gave a grateful half-smile. He let his eyes drop the rest of the way closed.

Jason watched his boy's breathing eventually even out.

Clay had referred to him as a father-figure. Once upon a time, that would have been laughable. But today, it spread a welcome warmth through Jason's chest, succeeding in chasing away just a little bit more of his resident darkness, and he couldn't help the tug of a smile at his lips.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Davis had dropped by the hospital once but hadn't stayed. She'd needed a little bit of time, after they'd returned to the States, to scrape herself back together.

On a scale of one-to-shit, their deployment had been catastrophic. Between everything that had happened, plus the exhaustion, she'd needed a moment to re-ground herself, get her head on straight.

She'd been told that Sonny was conscious, semi-mobile with the help of a wheelchair, and back to his usual charming self.

Still, it took her a good couple of days to work up the courage to see him.

Unsure why she was so nervous, she paused at the door to his room. Feeling her heart pounding against her ribs, she knocked, waited a moment, and then opened the door a crack.

Sonny was still in the process of raising the head of the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Sorry," Davis whispered into the room. "I can come back, if you're not up for a visitor."

At the sound of her voice, Sonny stopped what he was doing, met her eyes and cracked a wide smile. Finishing raising himself upright, he waved her in. "Always have time for you, Ms Davis." Despite the huskiness thinning his voice, his tone was genuine.

Davis returned the smile, felt her cheeks flush. Stepping into the room, she pulled the door closed behind her, willing her pounding heart to settle.

She'd been through this a thousand times in her head, and she still wasn't sure exactly how to say what she wanted to say to him.

Sonny patted the edge of the bed, motioning for her to come and sit.

Davis hesitated a moment longer, wondering if she should take the chair instead. But her feet began moving before she'd had a chance to finish the thought.

Lowering herself on the edge of the mattress, she regarded the man she'd thought she'd lost – half in the line of duty, the other half from her own stupidity.

He reached for her hand, took it gently in his. "Been hoping you'd come by."

She let her fingers curl between his, savoring the warmth.

Silence lingered for a moment, heavy with things unsaid.

Sonny broke it. "You know," he started. "I had some time, recently, to do some thinking."

Davis shot him a look, tears pricking at her eyes despite how much she was trying to keep them at bay.

"Think about my life's regrets, all that jazz," Sonny continued, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. "Things got a little bit real there, for a moment." A flicker of sadness passed over his features. "And I realized …"

When his voice trailed off, Davis lifted her eyes. Noticing that he was also fighting back tears did nothing to help her resolve not to crumble.

Sonny gave a small, nervous laugh. Tried to squeeze a wobbly smile, though it fell apart at the edges. "I swore that if I made it through," he snatched at his unsteady voice. "I would tell you …"

Davis couldn't help the tear that leaked free. It rolled down her cheek, and she quickly swiped away. Giving a half-sob half-laugh of her own, she withdrew her hand. Cupping his cheek with shaking fingers, she closed the gap between them, and without another thought, pressed her lips to his.

She'd been thinking, too.

Perhaps this was better than trying to find the words to say all that she wanted to say.

Gently pulling away, she held his gaze.

His eyes reflected equal measures of surprise and relief. He opened his mouth, as if trying to pick up his dangling sentence.

But Davis beat him to it. "I know," she said, another tear rolling down her cheek as she squeezed a small smile. "Me too."

Sonny swallowed roughly, reached out and wiped her cheek dry.

"Just, promise me something, would you?" She whispered, taking his hand back in hers.

He squeezed gently.

"Don't ever do anything like that again, okay?"

He huffed, cracked a smile. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed, though they both knew he could never promise such a thing.

Davis leaned in, kissed him harder this time.

And he kissed back, equally as hard – although he pulled his mouth away, just long enough to murmur three quiet, heartfelt words.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the last little bit :)

_**Four months later …** _

The engines rumbled around them in a low hum. Sonny couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a commercial flight, let alone taken a proper vacation. The stark contrast to his normal mode of air travel was disorienting, but he had to admit, he could get used to this.

Davis' hand rested on his thigh, and he covered it with his, casting a smile.

"I can count the number of times I've seen you in shorts," she stated, amusedly glancing at his bare legs below the knee.

Sonny's ankle was nicely healed, and he wore yellow flip-flops – a fitting match with his casual, button-up Hawaiian shirt.

"Figured I'd dress the part," he replied lightly. He couldn't exactly go on a beach holiday in jeans.

She twisted slightly in her seat, regarded him warmly. The afternoon sun silhouetted her as it shone through the window to her right, giving her dark hair an auburn halo. "Tell me again," she said. "Why Hawaii?"

Sonny felt the shadow of a memory, icy cold in his gut. He pushed it away, refusing to be drawn down by it. Opting for a smile instead, he replied simply, "Seemed like a good idea, at the time." He turned her hand over, traced fingers across her palm. "It's warm. Has good sand."

" _Good_ sand?" She quirked a brow. "I never realized there were different categories."

"Just two, really," he explained. "Desert sand, which is shit. And beach sand, which isn't shit."

That drew a small laugh. Davis' expression softened, and she withdrew her hand, running it affectionately along his jaw.

He leaned into the touch.

"Whatever led you to booking this surprise trip," she said finally, "I feel incredibly lucky to be coming along for the ride."

Sonny smiled, tilted sideways and kissed her gently. "Think I'm the lucky one," he countered. And he truly meant it. Not only had he doubted he'd ever be taking this trip – he'd never dared to imagine he'd be fortunate enough to take it with her.

Voices from the row directly behind them snagged their attention, and they both took a moment to tune in to the conversation being had on the other side of their seats.

"I'm sorry, Mister Spenser," came the insincerely friendly voice of an air hostess. "But this is the meal that's been pre-ordered for you. There was a specific request attached to your booking. I've double-checked, but unfortunately we don't have any spare adult meals."

Sonny felt amusement bubble within him.

"Sonny …" Davis started, narrowing her eyes at him. "Did you order Clay a _child's_ meal?" Her words were low, slow and careful.

He let a grin crack over his face, listening as Clay tried once more to argue his case.

The air hostess wasn't having a bar of it, and she ended the conversation by excusing herself to attend to another passenger, leaving Clay's words trailing off mid-sentence.

Davis pinned him with an exasperated, yet fond, look. "You do realize he's going to get you back for this."

Sonny had no doubt. He'd decided it was worth it. "They say traveling with kids makes or breaks a relationship," he offered by way of explanation. "Just wanted him to fit the part."

"He's nearly _thirty_ , Sonny. And he's not our kid."

"He sometimes has the maturity of a toddler," Sonny argued. "And yeah, he kind of is our kid."

She lifted a brow, let out a small laugh and shook her head. "Pot, kettle, black much?"

Before Sonny could say anything further, he was hit in the forehead with a small pack of colored pencils, launched from the row behind him.

Twisting in his seat, he directed his words at Clay. "Hey, settle down back there, Bam Bam."

"Screw you, Sonny," came the muttered reply - followed promptly by a handful of violently hurled raisin missiles, which Sonny barely dodged.

Davis just laughed some more, scooting out of the line of fire with a quiet curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it from me. Take care everyone x


End file.
